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LEWIS BENTON BATES 


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1909 


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Boston, Mass. 


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Copyright, 1909, by 
Emma Bates Harvey 




Composition and Presswork by 
THE CHAPPLE PRESS 



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CHAPTER 

I 

II 

III 

IV 

V 

VI 

VII 

VIII 

IX 

X 

XI 

XII 

XIII 

XIV 

XV 

XVI 

XVII 

XVIII 

XIX 

XX 

XXI 

XXII 

XXIII 



His 



PAGE 

The Message Wonderful .... 1 

. . Reflexes 11 

. The Blue Umbrella 21 

. "Vain Repetitions' ' ..... 29 

"The Everlasting Arms " .... 37 

. . A Great Wonder 45 

When the President Came" .... 53 

'When the Dumb Spake" .... 59 

"The Land Where Giants Dwelt" ... 67 

Wonder Book — The Constitutional Baptism 81 

When the Clock Struck Twelve ... 89 

. . My Antiphonal Choir 97 

Some of God's Great People ... 107 

"A Little Child Shall Lead Them" ... 119 

"Is God Dead?" 127 

. . My Degree 135 

Some of My Memory Gems .... 143 

. . Old-Time Religion 153 

. My Marriage Column 163 

. "I am Sorry for You" 173 

. . . Bethel 181 

. ."In His Name" 191 

. . Revelations 201 



Zo Xoutea 

THE DEAREST WONDER 
OF MY LIFE 



"And her children shall 
rise up and call her 
blessed." 



IRecenmd from 
Copyright Office 
jhN 4 1910 



BY WA Y OF INTRODUCTION 



"The Inner Life of an Old-Time Minister" might 
well be the title of this delightful biography. The 
phrase occurs in a letter written by the author to the 
one who writes these introductory pages, and it happily 
describes the contents of this book. 

No stale and dry genealogical details are here 
recorded of ancestors near or remote, in which the 
reader, by no stretch of courtesy, can be interested; 
no interminable list of honors and achievements, 
though Dr. Bates has many to record; no wearisome 
letters, of interest only to personal friends, but every 
page of this volume is palpitating with matters of 
genuine human interest. 

Whether the author tells of her grandfather's 
single-handed encounter with the rough who tried 
to break up the camp meeting, or of the same old 
Cape Cod circuit rider's faith when the family larder 
was reduced to five potatoes; or to her father's own 
experience in bringing Christmas cheer and pardon 
to an unjustly convicted prisoner, the story is always 
fresh, racy and well told, and, better than all, points 
its own moral, yet with little attempt at moralizing. 

We hear much about " human documents" in these 
days, and the phrase is used to cover all sorts of human 



BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 

and inhuman experiences. Each chapter of this 
book is a genuine "human document" of the best sort. 
It breathes the real life of a real man. Better than 
this, each chapter reveals and justifies the ways of 
God with man, and shows how the Father in Heaven 
cares for His children in all their perplexities, anxieties 
and troubles. 

It is a book that pre-eminently stimulates faith in 
God and faith in man, or at least in the kind of men 
who live the simple, unselfish, heroic lives here depicted. 

Since the author of this biography gives so few 
details of her father's own history, it remains for the 
writer of these prefatory lines to supply a few of them. 
No man in Boston, I venture to say, is better known 
or better loved than Rev. Lewis Benton Bates, D. D. 
His stalwart form and genial face are often seen on 
public occasions, wherever the right is defended and 
the wrong condemned, and especially where men are 
being led to the Saviour of Mankind, for in nothing 
does Dr. Bates more rejoice than in a genuinely evan- 
gelistic, soul-saving service. The Moody meetings, 
the Gipsy Smith meetings, the Chapman meetings 
would not have been complete without his kindly 
and helpful presence, — to speak of only a few of the 
more recent of thousands of revival services in which 
he has taken part. 

These many public appearances, however, are, I 
doubt not, his smallest claim to the love and gratitude 
of his generation, for his visits to the widow and the 
fatherless, his relief of the poor and his ministrations 

vi 



BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 

at the bedside of the sick and dying will never be 
forgotten, either by his beneficiaries or by Him who 
said, "I was sick and ye visited me; I was in prison 
and ye came unto me." 

"Wherever he goes in East Boston (his present 
home)" we are told, "men, women and children of all 
religions and races know him and love him. It is a 
common sight to see him going along the street per- 
chance with the hand of some little Jew clasped in 
his, while the Catholic newsboy will tip his hat, with 
'Good-morning, Father Bates.'" And yet this pa- 
triarch of fourscore years, whom children of all the 
churches love, and who loves all children, is as sturdily 
orthodox as any Puritan of the sterner days of long 
ago. He believes in the Bible and the whole Bible, 
and he does not refuse to declare "the whole counsel 
of God " as he sees and believes it. 

A few statistics must be pardoned, to show the 
immense scope and reach of this long and honored 
life. A descendant of John Rogers and of Clement 
Bates, the first white man to land at Hingham, and 
of a long later line of godly men and women, his activi- 
ties have exceeded even those of his godly ancestors. 
He began to preach sixty-four years ago, when only 
seventeen, and entered at the age of nineteen upon 
the regular ministry of the Methodist Episcopal Church. 
During all these sixty-two years, since as a lad still 
in his teens he was set apart for the Gospel minis- 
try, he has failed to preach but three Sundays by 
reason of illness. Multiply sixty-two by fifty-two and 

vii 



BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 

subtract but three, and it gives the total of the Lord's 
days on which he has " ministered before the altar." 
Three thousand, two hundred and twenty-one Sabbaths 
of service, up to the date that these words are written; 
and the ministry is still going on, Sunday by Sunday, 
with old-time power, vigor and success. Who can 
estimate the power and blessing of these unnumbered 
ministrations, of which the Sunday services are only 
a fraction? 

A few more figures show even more impressively 
the variety and breadth of his service to mankind. 
During these years he has officiated at over 5,000 
funerals, has married 1,600 couples, and has baptized 
5,000 converts. He has* also dedicated 386 chapels, 
and has helped personally to raise over $1,300,000 for 
churches and Christian work. We hear in these days 
of " records" of all sorts. If this is not a ministerial 
"record," I do not know where we shall find one. 

A few years ago I visited the State House in Boston 
to see the new Governor of Massachusetts inaugurated. 
As I heard him take the solemn oath of office, my eye 
sought the face of an old minister of the Gospel in the 
thronged House Chamber, and my heart warmed to 
the proud father of a noble son, a son who was there 
being inaugurated, the honored Governor of one of 
our oldest and most influential Commonwealths, — and 
that old minister was Lewis Benton Bates. 

A daughter of this same old minister warrior has 
found it a joyous labor of love to assist him in the 
preparation of this autobiography; and now Father 

viii 



BY WAY OF INTRODUCTION 

Bates has the supreme happiness of seeing all his 
children rise up to call him blessed, and carrying out 
his own life plans in their own different spheres, and 
living up to his high ideals. Truly, in the life of this 
servant of the Master has the prayer of the Psalmist 
been wonderfully answered : 

" Let thy work appear unto thy servants, 
And thy glory upon their children. 
And let the beauty of the Lord our God be upon us: 
And establish thou the work of our hands upon us; 
Yea, the work of our hands establish thou it-" 

Francis E. Glark. 
Boston, August, 1909. 



IX 



The Message Wonderful 



MY WONDER BOOK 



CHAPTER I 

The Message Wonderful 

I WAS weary, and a little discouraged. Even the 
fact that it was the Christmas season seemed 
impotent to bring the usual flood of joy; for it 
was in the " hard-time" era of the "Seventies," and my 
people were poor and in many cases were suffering. 

I thought of their needs and vainly tried to suit some 
message of " Glad Tidings " to their hearts for a Christ- 
mas sermon the next day; but words would not shape 
themselves, and I paced restlessly back and forth in 
my study. 

I remembered my people, and, as in a procession, I 
seemed to see them pass before my eyes, all, even the 
stronger, pleading for help. There was a mother whose 
only little one would spend her first Christmas in 
Heaven. Poor mother, there was no little stocking for 
her to fill that year. How much sadder, infinitely 
sadder, I thought, was her case than that of even the 
mother and father across the way, who had five little 
stockings which must go empty. They were very 

1 



2 MY WONDER BOOK 

The poor, and for many a day the man had been unable 

Message ^ ^ wor k # Then I remembered another home in 
Wonderful 

which sadness had thrust forth the Christmas joy, for 

the father was in prison, while the mother and two 
little ones were living in the home of a friend. 

Perhaps it was because I had tried to do the most 
for this last case, and had seemingly failed, that its 
pathos seemed to take possession of my very heart 
and soul, utterly paralyzing my mind for all sermonic 
action. 

As long ago as the first day I had arrived in town, 
before I had been in the house fifteen minutes, the door- 
bell had rung, and on the steps I had found a woman, 
who answered my word of greeting with : " Will you 
help me? Others have said they would, but have done 
nothing. Will you help me?" Soon in my study, sitting 
on an unpacked box, she toid me about this prisoner. 
How that he had been sentenced for forgery, but that 
she knew he was innocent, and that he ought to be 
pardoned. From the very streets she had taken into 
her home his unfortunate wife and children. " But that 
man must be pardoned, and you must help to bring it 
about," she finally said. I promised to do what I could, 
and she left me. In a week's time she returned, and her 
first words were, "What have you done?" I was 
rather abashed by her question, for to tell the truth I 
had done, — nothing. I had been very busy that first 
week; and then, too, I had not seen just what I could 
do. With a look of mingled disgust and disappoint- 
ment, she left me, saying: "You are just like all 



MY WONDER BOOK 3 

the rest. You promise, but you do nothing. You can The 
preach well enough, but practice is another thing.";; r< Wonderful 

I wasn't exactly in an agreeable frame of mind the 
rest of that day; but I secretly rejoiced to feel that 
anyway I would not be troubled in the future by that 
woman. What was my dismay, then, just a week later 
to have ushered in my study this same persistent 
individual, who, as I placed a chair, said,"iVow, will 
you help me?" Whether that "now" had reference to 
my remarks a week before, or to my injured feelings, I 
never knew. I only knew it had accomplished its pur- 
pose, and with unwonted meekness, I answered, " Yes, 
what shall I do?" "Do," she said, "do something 
right off. Get up a petition. Meet me Monday morn- 
ing at the ferry and go with me to see the lawyers, the 
governor, the King of England, and the Pope himself, 
if necessary." I agreed at once to meet her, and realiz- 
ing I was in her hands, I could only trust to Providence 
as to our final destination. 

I met her. First she took me to the district attorney. 
He was non-committal on the subject. Then I was 
dragged to her lawyer. He evidently believed in the 
man's innocence, but had not been well paid for his 
past services and naturally was not enthusiastic about 
the future. 

We then presented ourselves before the governor. For 
two hours that woman stated her case, going over and 
over the same ground until that governor from being 
bored was really becoming interested; for some time I 
had felt myself becoming more and more so. 



4 MY WONDER BOOK 

The But, although the governor treated us with so fine a 
Won^erftd c °urtesy that it has made me love governors ever since, 
at the end of our interview he shook his head and sent 
us to his council. 

We went home towards night, and I was discouraged. 
"I have done what you asked," I said, and then in a 
tone of politeness that my own disappointment made 
almost ironic, I asked, "Is there anything else I can do 
for you?" "Yes," was the astounding reply, "Come 
tomorrow again with me to see the judge. Will you?" 
"Yes," I said, almost too promptly for courtesy, and 
we went. And we went again, and again. For months 
we worked on that case, and soon I became so thor- 
oughly aroused that I needed no urging to do some- 
thing. I had prayed, I had worked, but no pardon had 
been granted. It was now Christmas Eve, and the man 
was sitting heartbroken in his cell, and the wife was 
sitting heartbroken in the home of her persistent friend. 
I had failed. What words of Christmas greeting that 
night could I carry to them? I looked out of the win- 
dow. The dusk was f ailing early, and a light snow was 
gathering on the ground, while in the sky the snow 
was hiding from our view the stars. "Yes," I sadly 
thought, "there is seemingly not even the stars' message 
this Christmas night." 

A sharp ring at the door brought me from my reverie 
to meet a "special messenger" boy standing on the step. 
In his hand he had a peculiar-looking white envelope, 
with an official seal. I fairly grabbed it, and tearing it 
open with shaking hands, I read : 



The 

Message 



MY WONDER BOOK 

The Executive Chamber, 

December 24, '0-. 
Rev. L. B . Bates. Wonderful 

Dear Sir: — It gives me great pleasure to enclose a copy of a 
pardon for Mr. S . Knowing of your arduous efforts in his be- 
half I thought you might like the privilege of reading it to him 
yourself. Wishing you both a "Merry Christmas/ ' I am 

Very truly yours, 



"Praise the Lord, Louisa. I'm going to jail!" I 
cried. " Praise the Lord, Mr. S is free." 

I don't know whether I took my hat or not, but out 
of the house I ran, and although it was before the 
days of the elevated and the electric roads, I am very- 
sure it was the most rapid transit I have ever made. 
Into the jail I hurried. The warden smiled sym- 
pathetically, for he knew my errand, and asked if he 
should bring the prisoner to me. "Oh, no," I said. 
" Let me go to him." 

I found him in his cell with head bowed, and with the 
saddest face I thought I had ever seen. He hardly 
glanced at me, for he was suffering too deeply. If he 
had looked my way, my face would have told the news 
at once. " It is kind in you to come on Christmas Eve," 
he said. I tried to control my voice and answered, "I 
have good news for you, my man." "Good news?" 
he said. "Is my wife coming to see me tomorrow?" 
"Better than that," I said. "My children, too?" he 
asked eagerly. " Better than that. You are going to 
see them!" "My God!" he cried. "Oh, it's too 
wonderful, wonderful!" 



The 



6 MY WONDER BOOK 

"But it isn't," I continued, "for here is your pardon. 
Message You are a free man. It is the Christmas message of 
Wonderful Glad Tidings—' The Message Wonderful.' " I placed my 
hand on the head of the agitated man, and I knew that 
I myself was actually trembling with joy. I heard him 
murmuring something, and I bent my head that I 
might better catch the words. This is what I heard, 
"And they shall call His name Wonderful, Wonderful!" 
Again and again came the words, and then sinking to 
his knees, he fairly sobbed in prayer, " Oh, God, I do 
thank Thee for this wonderful, wonderful thing." 

I went out of that prison with him and took him 
home, but I did not at first go in. For nearly an hour 
I paced back and forth in front of a his door, and then 
I could stand it no longer. I went Jin. What a sight! 
The persistent friend stood in the hall, tears streaming 
down her face. "You've done something at last," 
she said. "No, I haven't, either. It's all you, my 
friend," I said. That we didn't have an open dispute 
on this question I am quite sure was owing to the con- 
dition of our voices rather than that of our hearts, and 
then, too, there were other things that needed our 
attention just then. Father, mother, and children were 
in one another's arms. At the sound of my entrance 
the little ones started. "Oh, don't take him away," 
they cried. But the father took me by the hand, and 
the mother knelt, and with a hand on the head of each 
of the now reassured children I prayed, and we all 
thanked God for the wonders of that night. 

When I arose from my knees I knew I had my 



MY WONDER BOOK 7 

Christmas sermon. I had a message for all. I knew fj^ 
there was no heart in the universe so sad or so lonely but Meitage 
what it could find its comfort in the Christmas message. 
As I went back to the little parsonage that Christmas 
Eve, a whole Handel and Haydn oratorio was going on 
within my soul. I seemed to actually hear again in 
an ever-repeating chorus the words : " And His name 
shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The ^Mighty God, 
The Everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace." Then 
alone I heard, standing out from .all the rest with 
peculiar emphasis, "He shall be called Wonderful. 
Wonderful. Wonderful P ' 

It had stopped snowing, and from the distance came 
the lightest, faintest chiming of church-bells, sprinkling 
through the frosty air the sweetness of, "When Shep- 
herds watched their flocks by night." I looked up into 
the sky. The storm was over, and the stars were 
shining brightly. As I gazed, it seemed almost as if 
each star were trying to send down to my heart its 



"Glad tidings," said one; "Good news," another; 
"Peace," a third; and then all sang together. In my 
heart stood out in its transcendent glory the message 
of the Star of Bethlehem. 

"Fear not, for behold I bring you good tidings of 
great joy. For unto you is born this day in the city 
of David a Saviour which is Christ the Lord." 

Impulsively I sent back the word — and perhaps it 
was a prayer and perhaps it was a psalm — " Yes, and 
His name shall be called Wonderful." 



8 MY WONDER BOOK 

The That was years ago, but how often since have I looked 
Wonderitol back to that Christmas Eve and felt the inspiration of 
its wonderful experience. Surely, in the sunlight and 
shadow of my life's history has ever been woven that 
same word, " Wonderful/' until sometimes my life 
itself seems to become one great big wonder-book, of 
which God himself is the editor. "Marvellous are His 
doings in our sight." 

As sunset light cuts off the more active pleasures of 
day service, I often find that Memory's pen writes page 
after page in that book. I open it now to the title page, 
and in the glory of the light of eventide, I read in golden 
letters : 

Lewis Benton Bates 
His Wonder Book of God's Mercies and Goodnesses. 



Reflexes 




From an old Daguerreotype 

Two Heroes of the Cross 
Grandfather and Grandmother Bates 



CHAPTER II 

Reflexes 

MR. DOOLEY says, "We all came over in the 
1 Mayflower/ only some of us took a later train." 
The train in which the Bates family came from 
England to this country landed in Cohasset in 1627. 
It consisted of three brothers, and of these our own 
special ancestor was called " Clement." In the course 
of time some of his descendants moved to what is 
now Springfield, Vermont. To make this journey six 
weeks of rough travelling on snowsleds was then re- 
quired. What a journey it must have been in the 
severity of winter! A few months ago I was called 
to that vicinity to attend a funeral, and covered the 
distance in seven hours of comfortable travel. In 
that town among the old church records appears as 
one of its pastors the name of " Bates." On my visit, 
the townspeople told me of the stories still told by 
them to their children of the "wonderful things the 
Lord had done in the days when a man by the name 
of Bates was the minister." 

Among the names of the early Methodist ministry 
I find other traces of the name of " Bates." I like to 
think of those old pioneer prophets in a new land. 
How I would like to meet them at a Monday morning 
preachers' meeting and hear them talk about the 

11 



Reflexes 



12 MY WONDER BOOK 

Lord and His doings! Their life wonder-books surely 
would be worth reading and being made known to all 
men. But of all of them, to me none could be so 
interesting, so fascinating, so marvellous as that of 
my own father. He was stationed at one time in the 
middle of old Cape Cod. His parish covered the whole 
Cape, and a circuit of a hundred miles was his fort- 
nightly apportion. What a field, and what an oppor- 
tunity! He would say " Good-bye" to mother and the 
large family of little ones in the lonely old farmhouse, 
kneel down and commend them all to the care of the 
Heavenly Father, and then jump on the old horse. 
Down the road he would go, and as we would catch 
the fainter and still fainter strains of some old psalm 
tune, he was to us children, in his old clothes and bat- 
tered hat, a glorious figure, a genuine Knight of the 
Cross. What battles he fought in the Lord's name! 
What victories he scored! 

After preaching one night at a little schoolhouse, he 
gave a closing invitation for those who would give their 
hearts to the Lord to stand. There was a moment's 
silence and then a little fisher-lad arose. I think the 
old preacher must have had in mind another little 
fisher-lad of old, as he lay his hands upon his head and 
said: "God bless you, my boy. May He feed you 
with the bread of life that some day you may feed 
many. May He so fill your heart with Heavenly 
wisdom that some day you may be the means of 
dispensing wisdom to hundreds." The little fisher- 
lad went out into the darkness, but he was another 



MY WONDER BOOK 13 

boy from what he was when he had entered the school- 
house meeting. The Lord had spoken to him, and a 
great thing had happened in his heart. As he had 
entered the room, he was only an ordinary little fisher- 
pedler, one of hundreds of village boys; as he went out, 
the Lord had placed the beginnings of such wondrous 
things in his heart that that little lad one day became 
the man who made a fortune, and with that fortune 
founded a great university where " wisdom is still dis- 
pensed to hundreds. " The little boy's name was Isaac 
Rich, and Boston University today calls him "Father." 

Trudging home from the schoolhouse meeting, per- 
haps cold and tired, discouraged may be because only 
one little boy had responded to his labors, the old 
preacher little knew the mighty work he had helped 
to initiate that night. If he can look down from 
Heaven, I sometimes wonder what his feeling must 
be to see his own grandson president of the Board of 
Trustees of the very university of which his little 
fisher-lad convert was the founder. Such are the doings 
of the Lord. 

Is a certain amount of poverty, suffering, and self- 
sacrifice necessary to clear the vision of any preacher 
to allow him to see the great things of the Lord? It 
may be because my father had in all abundance these 
advantages that he ever had fresh marvels for which 
to praise the Lord. 

In these days when many good people say that there 
never was a Jonah's whale, nor a Daniel's den, nor a 
Hebrew's fiery furnace; when they say everybody 



Reflexes 



14 MY WONDER BOOK 

Reflexes 1S §°i n g *° Heaven; and that if even there ever was a 
Moses, he was twins; when they think ravens never 
fed people; when they say that if God's children are 
suffering and needy, the only good that prayer will 
do is to make them more contented in their own minds, 
and to give them certain reflex conditions — I love to 
recall some of the mighty answers to the prayers of 
this poor, old-fashioned minister. 

At one time he and mother, with four children, 
were living on a salary of three hundred dollars a 
year. Snow was on the ground, and the air had the 
bitter cold of a Cape Cod winter. The fishermen had 
met poor luck that year, and the minister's salary 
had correspondingly suffered. It was one thing for 
him to go without comfort and even necessities, but 
quite another thing to let his wife and little ones go 
unprovided for. He was due to preach on a certain 
night twenty miles away. The Lord's work must not 
suffer. There was still some Indian meal in the larder, 
and a few potatoes in the bin. No coal, of course, 
but some wood, at least enough to last until the next 
night, and then, Providence permitting, he would be 
home again, and in some way the Lord would send 
with him supplies of food and wood. So, with a last 
prayer for God's blessing on the litttle household, he 
got down the saddlebags, and started courageously 
on his journey. 

That day all went well, but at night-time the cold 
had tempered sufficiently to let loose great storm- 
clouds of heavy snow, and when at four o'clock the 



MY WONDER BOOK 15 

next morning this disciple of John Wesley arose to 
keep his Morning-watch, it was to realize that they 
were "shut in from all the world without/ 7 by the 
"universe of sky and snow." 

For a moment his heart sank within him as he 
pictured the little family at home in want, and then he 
fell on his knees and prayed : " Thou that sendest 
the snow-flake, keep my loved ones warm today; 
Thou who once used the ravens for bakers, feed my 
little ones, and we will thank Thee for Thy won- 
drous works to the children of men. Amen." Down 
the ladder he came, two rounds at a time, ready for 
breakfast. 

"Brother B , are you not anxious about your 

family today? " asked the host. 

"Oh, no," responded the preacher. "God is taking 
care of them, and he knows how to, better than I." 

Meanwhile at his home the dear mother in Israel 
did her household duties. Well she knew the meaning 
of that storm. The last chip of wood was on the fire, 
the Johnny-cakes for breakfast had used the last 
meal, and no one could tell in that country region 
when the snow-bound roads would allow father with 
fresh supplies to reach them again. Still there were 
potatoes ! 

In the father's absence morning prayers were never 
omitted, so the little family knelt while the mother 
prayed: "Dear Lord, we thank Thee for our break- 
fast. We are so glad for the potatoes. But we can't 
eat them raw, and we are beginning to feel cold. We 



Reflexes 



Reflexes 



16 MY WONDER BOOK 

are not widows, Lord, and we are so glad we are not, 
but Thou, who once fed the widow, feed us now, for we 
can get just as hungry. Please send us some wood 
first and then some more food. Amen." 

As the little group arose from their knees, the last 
sparks of the fire were seemingly doing their best to 
do their part in answering prayer by uniting in one 
bright flame, and then, as if discouraged at the lack 
of co-operation from a cold world outside, they sank 
down in darkness. But the mother's eye looking 
through the window saw the wooden fence! Now, a 
fence is worth a great deal, but under certain conditions 
a fire is worth more. The boys were ordered to cut 
down the fence, and with boyish delight in the act of 
destruction proceeded to do the mother's bidding. 
So busily were they engaged that they did not at first 
see an old team plodding its way through the snow 
towards the parsonage. Just as the fence had fairly 
ceased to be ornamental, and still had not begun its 
more useful career in life, the class-leader shook him- 
self out of the team at the parsonage gate. He put 
his team in the barn and passed on to the kitchen, 
evidently shocked at such wanton destruction; he 
felt it was his first duty to reprove the preacher's wife 
for allowing the fence to be cut down, but as he saw 
the few sticks carefully one by one laid onto the 
fire, the decided chill of the room prevented him from 
performing that duty, or was it perhaps that innate 
refinement that is deep in the heart of every New 
Englander that caused him to say nothing? He was a 




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MY WONDER BOOK 17 

devout man, and he and the mother talked on Heavenly- 
things until the noontime. 

Now I contend that none but a circuit-rider's wife 
would have been equal to the emergency of that dinner. 
At twelve o'clock, with the air of more than queen, 
the air of the gracious housewife, she invited the guest 
to dinner. They drew up about the kitchen table, 
which was covered with a coarse white tablecloth. 
In the middle of the table was a large dish. There was 
plenty of salt in that dish, and it was the only dish 
that did contain a plenty of anything. In another 
dish were just five baked potatoes. Most courteously 
the mother handed the guest a plate on which she 
placed the largest potato. Then she passed one to 
each of the older of the three children, and taking the 
fifth potato onto her own plate, she quickly mashed 
it giving most of it quietly to the youngest child. 
No apologies, just the heartiest hospitality, and if 
the table had been covered with dainties, the guest 
could not have been made to feel he was more wel- 
comed. For some reason he could not eat his potato. 
He had no appetite. Finally he could stand it no 
longer, and hastily arising, without a word he left the 
room, his one baked potato, and the flickering fire. 
Looking out of the window, the preacher's family soon 
saw him outside through sweeping whirlwinds and 
drifts of snow tearing down the road. 

The storm continued all day, but in spite of that fact, 
by night-time a dozen teams had ploughed their way 
to the parsonage skeleton fence, and that they got by 



Reflexes 



18 MY WONDER BOOK 

the fence into the parsonage yard, a loaded larder 
Reflexes anc [ groaning bins gave ample evidence. 

When at last the parson reached home, before he 
was told of any of the facts, his first question was: 
"How did the Lord answer prayer this time? It is 
pretty cold weather for ravens." 

I wonder if that parson would have preached such 
a thanksgiving sermon the next day, if on his return 
from his circuit mother had met him and had said: 
" Lewis, I am half-starved. The children are ill from 
hunger, but the reflex action in my heart tells me that 
I have not prayed in vain. I am a better woman 
for not having enough food, and the children (if they 
live) will be better men and women." 

Such an experience might be all right for some 
people. I wouldn't question it, but somehow J glory 
in the fact that the God of my fathers did not send 
a reflex action to Moses, Daniel, Jonah, to my own 
father, but that He did, " do marvellous things in their 
eyes." 



The Blue Umbrella 




"The Blue Umbrella' 



CHAPTER III 
The Blue Umbrella 

FATHER BATES was one of the unequaled old 
New England story-tellers, and never was so 
happy as when surrounded by a growing audience 
on which he could exercise his histrionic talent. One 
day he came jogging down the road, the old saddle- 
bags jouncing to and fro. As he saw the men lingering 
around the hay scales, he dismounted from his mare and 
prepared to gather in an audience for his schoolhouse 
meeting that night a mile away. Father Bates knew 
men, and often used one of his best stories to win them 
first to himself and then to some schoolhouse meeting 
to a good Gospel service. The men welcomed him, for 
he was well known in that region, and as well loved as 
known. 

" Evening, friends," the old man said. "Say, did you 

people ever hear about Father N ?" and he clapped 

his hands and chuckled, until all the men grinned 
from sympathy. 

"Oh, my," said the preacher, "it is the best one 
yet!" Here he laughed as if he could hardly contain 
himself, while the growing group was impatient with 
expectation. 

"You see how it was," he continued, "Father N 

was going on his circuit a few weeks ago, and just 

21 



22 



MY WONDER BOOK 



The 
Blue 



as he approached some hay scales — like these, I reckon 
Umbrella — two of the town's sports thought they would 
have some fun with the old man, and so they spruce 
themselves up, and what do they do but when the 
preacher heaves in sight they take their knuckles, and 
wiping their eyes, pretend to feel very bad about 

something. Brother N is moved to pity by such 

a sight and asks them, 'What in the world is the 
matter? ' 

"One of them answers in a melancholy way, 'O 
Father N , didn't you know?' 

"'Know what?' says the preacher, now really dis- 
turbed. 

" ' Why, know that the devil was dead ! ' 

" How the crowd chuckled to see the old preacher 
so worsted! But the old preacher, after a moment's 
silence, drew out from his pocket a bandanna handker- 
chief and held it to his eyes. He was quiet so long that 
the other sport at length asked, 'What's the matter, 
Father N ?' 

"Then the old man slowly replied, 'I am crying for 
you orphans!' 

"'We orphans?' was the perplexed answer. 

" ' Yes,' drily remarked the preacher. ' You said the 
devil was dead, and I was so sorry for you fatherless 
children!'" 

Then, amid the appreciative laughs of the crowd, 
Father Bates rode off, shouting as he went, " Say, boys, 
meeting at Red Schoolhouse tonight. Gome, won't 
you?" They did come, and listened even more eagerly 



MY WONDER BOOK 



23 



to the "Old, Old Story" than they earlier in the day ^ 
had listened to the hay-scale yarn. Umbrella 

Perhaps the story the old man best liked to tell was 
about "The Blue Umbrella." Whenever there was 
a drought, either in spiritual or material things, Father 
Bates would begin, "Say, did you ever hear about 
Deacon Simmons' blue umbrella?" Being assured 
that someone in the crowd had not heard of it before, 
his whole face aglow with his subject, off he would 
start. 

" You see it was this way. It was way up in the hills 
of New Hampshire many years ago that this deacon 
had an umbrella, but the story is still told by his grand- 
children. It had been an unusually warm, dry summer, 
and the farms were suffering for rain. Some weeks 
had gone by since there had been even a shower, and 
the farmers were in despair. Early summer had 
promised an unusually good harvest. At one time the 
gardens had never seemed so fair, but now everything 
was scorching in the sun. It seemed as if a wind from 
the Sahara itself had struck the whole region and with 
it had brought a tropical blast that withered all living 
things. 

"A town meeting was called, but no one was wise 
enough to suggest any scheme by means of which the 
crops could be saved. The drought continued. At 
last, as men so often do, and do only when at their 
wit's end, these people turned to prayer. A day of 
fasting and prayer was called, and early in the morning 
of the appointed day over the hills in every direction 



24 MY WONDER BOOK 

Blue cou ^ be seen the gathering people. They were going 
Umbrella to meet in the old meeting-house to pray for rain. 
Such a congregation had not been seen for many 
a year. Even skeptics were there, not with any notion 
that anything unusual would happen/ but ready always 
for an opportunity to sneer at the credulity of God's 
people. 

"Never had the sky looked clearer than it did that 
morning. Never had the sun seemed more scorching. 
Man and beast were almost overcome with heat. 

"Just before the minister stepped into the desk, old 
Deacon Simmons rode up to the door, and after he had 
helped his goodly wife out of the team, to the amaze- 
ment of the crowd he reached under the seat and hauled 
out a huge bright blue umbrella. 

"'Holloa, Deacon! What have you got there?' 
yelled a neighbor. 

"' That's an umbrella/ answered the town joker. 
'Don't you know an umbrella when you see it? My 
grandfather used to own one. In olden times they 
used to have them to keep the rain away.' 

"Meanwhile up the aisle marched the deacon, 
while the people's look of surprise changed to a broad 
grin as they saw under his arm the big umbrella. 

"What a service that was! The people sang and 
prayed. The old minister prayed and preached, but 
the sun streaked in a shameful way through those 
old-fashioned bold-faced windows. 'I hadn't any 
notion it would do any good, anyway/ said one cheerful 
old dame. 'Just as I thought," said her comforting 



MY WONDER BOOK 25 

neighbor. They were talking in meeting, for the The 
minister was in the middle of a long prayer, and they Blue . 
were very warm and weary. 

"Just then another voice was heard. It was 
Deacon Simmons. Leaving the words of formal sup- 
plication, tenderly and earnestly the old man talked 
with God, told Him His people's need, laid their case 
before Him, and pleaded the Lord's own promises. 
A strange hush was on the congregation. There was 
no more whispering, for here was a man praying as if 
he believed he would be heard. 

" Suddenly a little noise was heard, so tiny at first 
that the people fairly held their breath to listen. 
Half looking up, even as their heads were bowed, no 
longer did they meet the melting sun's rays. Conscious 
of gathering darkness in the sky, they bowed their 
heads again, and waited in wonder. 

"'0 Lord/ continued the deacon, 'We are Thy 
children. We are not as good as we ought to be, but 
we do love Thee, and believe that Thou lovest us. 
Thou hast promised to supply our every need according 
to Thy abundance in glory. We don't know, Lord, 
we are so ignorant, but we think in Thy abundance in 
glory Thou hast stored up some rain-clouds; and, Lord, 
we need some just now, down here. 9 Drip, drip, on the 
window pane. ' We beg Thee, Father, for Christ's 
sake to hear our prayer now and send us some rain.' 

"There was no mistake. The rain was pelting in, 
and as the old man finished his prayer, his voice was 
fairly drowned by the noise of the gathering storm! 



26 MY WONDER BOOK 

The "' Glory! Halleleujah!' came from all parts of the 
Umbrella room - Impulsively the whole congregation sprang to 
its feet, and sang ' All hail the power of Jesus' name/ 
At the close of the singing, the old deacon humbly 
and modestly walked down the aisle. His wife was 
on his left arm, and in his right hand was held open up 
over their heads the blue umbrella! Do you know, 
such was the effect on the congregation that not one 
stirred, until deacon, wife, and umbrella were in their 
team driving home. 

"That wasn't the best of it, though, for that fall such 
a revival swept that country as was never known 
before. The people and even the parson, himself, 
when asked what human agency was the cause, always 
replied, 'It was the deacon's blue umbrella!'" 

Then with a slight drawl and a twinkle in his eye, 
Father Bates used to add, "Haven't you noticed I 
always use a blue umbrella?" 



" Vain Repetitions " 



CHAPTER IV 
"Vain Repetitions" 

FATHER BATES had such a tall, well-built figure, 
that I suppose in this day and generation he 
would be called a fine athlete with the making of 
a whole baseball nine in his muscles, but being born a 
hundred years too soon for such compliments he simply 
was known as the "Big Man of the Camp Meeting." 

Although those old Methodist preachers knew but 
little of the luxury of a vacation for two weeks of 
fishing and hunting, and although they had never seen 
a National ball game nor even had heard of the name 
of "Gy" Young, for all that they had their pleasures, 
and among the greatest of these were the camp meet- 
ings. What meetings they were! Such prayers and 
testimonies as were given in those services ! In twenty 
minutes of time I have counted ninety different testi- 
monies in just one of those old Love Feasts. Several 
would be on their feet at once, anxious to tell what the 
Lord had done for them. Then the singing, "How 
Firm a Foundation," "Come, ye Sinners," "Lord, I 
am coming Home " — how those strains still sing them- 
selves within my heart, a thousand melodies all tuned 
to sing forth His wonders. What scenes they will 
ever bring before my mind of olden meetings in which 
Heaven and earth seemed to come together. 

29 



30 MY WONDER BOOK 

At an August camp meeting in Connecticut, Father 
Repetitions" Baylor and Father Bates were having a glorious time 
seeing sinners saved, when towards the close of the 
second day of the meeting there were rumors that 
a band of roughs from a neighboring village was going 
to visit camp meeting that night, for the express pur- 
pose of "enlightening the Elders." If they came, they 
said they should "run the show." 

No one seemed much disturbed by the rumor, and 
the evening service began in its usual manner. Father 
Bates led in prayer, and as the evening was in the inter- 
est of the missionary cause, in the night air his voice 
rang out quite appropriately: "0 Lord, give to us, 
we pray Thee, the heathen. O Lord, give us the heathen 
for our inheritance." From the darkness beyond the 
dimly lighted circle there came an answering shout, 
"Here we are! The heathen have come!" There 
was a rustle in the congregation, but the only apparent 
effect on the preacher was to make him pray the more 
fervently. The prayer was finished, but before the 
"Amen" could be pronounced, the gang of roughs 
was within the camp-meeting circle. An ancient egg 
was seen hurrying through the air. Other missiles 
went forth, but still the meeting went on. Finally, as 
if disgusted with their lack of success in breaking up 
the meeting, the roughs slunk away, but as they dis- 
appeared in the darkness, they gave a parting yell, 
"Don't feel bad, brethren, we'll come again tomorrow." 
They kept their word. In vain the leaders of the 
meeting expostulated with them. They were out for 



MY WONDER BOOK 31 

fun and meant to get it. After several hours of 

this "fun," Father Taylor turned to them and "Vain 

. , ' J Repetitions " 

said : 

"My friends, you are wicked heathen, sure enough. 
But no longer are you going to interfere with the Lord's 
work. Now, I'll tell you what you have got to do. 
You choose a champion, and we'll do the same. In 
open fight we will then settle who does own this camp- 
meeting, and who is going to run this show." 

In great glee they assented, and soon to a ring 
chosen just on the edge of the circle they sent their 
leader "to lick a parson!" A rough burly prize- 
fighter stood there, grinning with delight at the prospect 
before him, when Father Bates came out and looked 
at him. Slowly he took off his parson's coat, and as if 
in prayer was heard to say: "Lord, the heathen are 
here, sure enough. Help us to victory this day." 
The rough looked at him disdainfully, and so confident 
was he of his own skill, he hardly appreciated the real 
calibre of his opponent. 

"You'd better go home, laddie," was the mild 
greeting of the parson. " I don't want to lick you, but 
if the Lord tells me to, I can do it." 

This was too much for any heathen. With a de- 
risive shout of anger, he hurled himself onto his enemy. 
What a scene! Nearest to the ring were eight or ten 
veritable village heathen watching the fun with great 
glee as they thought of the parson's coming discom- 
fiture. Beyond them, further away from the centre 
of action, were two or three hundred brethren and 



32 MY WONDER BOOK 

sisters of the camp meeting in anxious breathlessness, 

Reoetitio* 11 " s * anc ^ n g on *^ e sea t s > but not facing the altar. Nearer 
and to the right, Father Taylor and other leaders in 
Israel, with a strange mixture of fun, benevolence, and 
enjoyment in their eyes, were gazing at the scene be- 
fore them. A wild shout went up from the roughs, 
but it had not the note of conquest, for there before 
them sat the victor of the ring, Father Bates. He 
sat upon the body of the heathen, mildly pummelling 
him, and this is what they heard him say : " Repeat the 
Lord's Prayer, sonny. I shall be obliged to retain my 
seat until you do!" 

"Oh, Lordy," groaned the victim. "Oh!" 
" Say it," said the preacher, and the audience shrieked 
with laughter as again the pummelling of the heathen 
was continued. The heathen opened his mouth and 
began. " On your knees, my son. I am running this 
show." Half tumbling over on to his knees the wretch 
began. "Louder," screamed the parson. And louder 
the heathen prayed, repeating phrase for phrase, as the 
parson prompted him. 

When he was allowed to arise, his companions had 
already vanished. A sister struck up in a shrill so- 
prano voice the long metre Doxology, and as all joined 
in singing, Father Bates tranquilly stepped into the 
altar, and divine service was continued! At the first 
opportunity he offered prayer and this was its burden : 
"O Lord, forgive the vain repetitions of the heathen. 
Convert that fellow, Lord, for he would make a splendid 
fighter for Thee. AmenJ 



;; 



MY WONDER BOOK 



33 



Then followed such a series of meetings, we are told, «yain 
as even that blessed grove had never seen before. Repetitions" 
Hundreds found the wonders of the Lord. 

But way down in his heart I think Father Bates 
never felt quite happy until one day, years afterwards, 
he had a certain letter, which contained this sentence — 
" Glory to God. The 'vain repetitions' of the heathen 
have become real heart prayers, and the camp-meeting 
rough to whom you once gave a deserved chastisement 
has become an earnest Christian." 



"The Everlasting Arms* 



CHAPTER V 
"The Everlasting Arms" 

" The Eternal God is thy refuge and underneath are the everlasting 
arms" — Deut. xxxiii: 27. 

FATHER BATES was a grand example of that 
noble class of old pioneer heroes known as circuit- 
riders. In his sixty-one years of Christian 
ministry, from the Schuylkill to the St. Groix back and 
forth he rode and tramped to preach the Gospel. If 
out at some distant appointment with a weary, jaded 
and discouraged horse, and with no prospect of supper 
before him as he would reach the next schoolhouse, just 
in time for service, he still was happy and many a time 
under even these conditions could be found shouting 
"Halleleujah!" At such times he would lean over the 
neck of the old horse, and say caressingly, "Sorry you 
haven't your supper, old fellow, but it is a great thing 
to be a circuit-rider's horse, you know." And the 
horse, apparently realizing the honor, would do his 
best to put on a little extra style and speed. 

Father Bates was working for the Lord, and he 
loved his Master. He used to say: "The Lord is 
paying me pretty good wages right along down here, 
but the best of it all is, He is constantly putting de- 
posits in my name in the bank up yonder. Glory, 
Halleleujah!" Then he would sing: 

37 



38 MY WONDER BOOK 

"The No foot of land do I possess, 

Everlasting N cottage in this wilderness, 

Arms" 

with such thorough enjoyment that one would wonder 
if there could be on the face of the earth a millionaire 
as happy as was this poor Methodist preacher. 

One of his favorite stories was connected with that 
song. It seems that there was an old preacher down 
on the Gape who also was very fond of singing those 
lines. Of course, being a Methodist preacher, he was 
both good and poor, but when in the midst of that 
song at some rousing camp meeting service he seemed 
equally oblivious of both facts. Not so, though, at 
least, one of his friends. Loving the old man and 
appreciating his genuine goodness, a certain rich man 
presented him with the deed of a little cottage. 

At first the old preacher was delighted. He at last 
was assured of a little home for his old age, and joy- 
fully he started off for the opening service of camp 
meeting. His heart was overflowing with joy, and 
when, as he approached the camp-meeting grove, he 
heard the strains of his favorite hymn, he actually 
shouted, he was so happy. Then he, too, began to 
sing, but suddenly his voice broke. He remembered 
the words. What right had he to sing them? Was 
there not at that very moment resting in the back of 
the family Bible at home a deed, a deed of a real cot- 
tage in his own name? "No cottage do I possess/' 
never could he sing again. It was no longer his song. 
He was so miserable all day that at night-time he 
rushed into the presence of his rich friend, and crushing 



MY WONDER BOOK 39 

the deed of the cottage into his hand said: "It's no "The 
use. You are very kind, but I have lost my song. I Arms" 11 * 
wouldn't do that for a whole block of houses! For- 
give me, won't you? But take your deed. " Before the 
rich man could respond at all, the preacher was gone, 
but from the distance came exultantly the strains of 

No foot of land do I possess, 
No cottage in this wilderness. 

In all of his earthly career I suppose Father Bates 
never knew anything of earth's luxuries, but under 
every condition of life he had what was of far more 
value — the peace of God and the consciousness of the 
" Everlasting Arms." 

We were living in Saugus while my brother, John, 
was on a whaling voyage in the Pacific. For three 
years we had not seen him, and even in those days of 
unfrequent letters, it had been a long time since we 
had heard from him. One morning — how well I 
remember it ! — mother and I standing in the door-way 
saw father coming slowly back from the village. As 
he approached the gate, I shall never forget the look 
on his face. He stopped a moment, and then held up 
in his hand a large white envelope with a black seal. 
Mother glanced at it, and I wondered what was the 
matter with my mother, whom I had never seen but 
strong and self-reliant, for she slid down to the ground 
in a little heap, and her face was strangely white! 

When they had helped her into the house, I heard 
her moan, "O John, my darling boy," and then father 



40 MY WONDER BOOK 

E l "tin 6 * ^ me *^ a ^ m y ^ brother was dead; that the ship's 
Arms" letter had told of how sickness had broken out upon the 
ship, and that John had been very ill, but was getting 
better. He was almost well when there came a storm, 
and so many of the sailors were ill that poor John was 
needed, and he crawled out of his bunk to perform his 
duty. The ship came safely through the storm, but 
John caught cold and died the next day. They had 
buried him in the sea. The whole story could so simply 
be told, but it was a story that filled one parsonage 
with heartbreak. 

In the early dawn of the next morning, mother and 
father in an old chaise started for Scituate. They 
wanted to get John's clothes, and then, too, they 
thought it would be a comfort just to look on John's 
ship. 

Two, three, four days went by, and down the road 
came back again the old chaise, and on its axle, con- 
taining a few clothes and a little Bible, swung John's 
old sailor-chest. When mother saw us all together 
once more, she moaned : " It's John's coffin, children. 
It's John's coffin!" I looked up in surprise. Surely, 
mother was mistaken. I tried to comfort her by 
saying cheerfully: "Oh, no, mother. It is only 
John's old sailor-chest!" But she turned to father 
and said, "Bring John's coffin into my room, father." 
And from that time until her death the old chest 
could always be found in mother's chamber. She went 
to many parsonages, but none were so small, or so 
large, so poorly furnished, or so abounding in extra 



MY WONDER BOOK 41 

furniture, but what John's chest was a fixed quantity "The 

in mother's room. jg$^ 

That night I heard my father pray, and it seemed 
to me all he said was this, "Everlasting Arms, Ever- 
lasting Arms!" It is all I remember, but I knew 
something had happened, for father and mother, al- 
though with tears rolling down their cheeks, looked 
comforted, and I heard again mother say, "Yes, it is 
the 'Everlasting Arms/" 

I crawled off to bed, with a great longing in my little 
heart to do something to relieve my own heart-ache. 
I didn't understand, I didn't know what it meant, 
but in my childish way I recognized that something 
was helping my mother and father. I heard a step on 
the stair, and slowly, as if she had grown old and 
feeble, my mother came to the bedside to tuck in her 
baby boy. 

" Lewis," she sobbed, " I cannot even put flowers 
on his grave." 

I flung my arms around her neck, and whispered: 

"Never mind, mamma, don't cry. Some day, 
when I get to be a big man, I'll put flowers on brother's 
grave." 

As her sobs continued, I grew desperate. What was 
it father had said that helped her? 

My childish memory assisted me. "0 mother," 
I said, "remember 'Everlasting Arms.'" Surely a 
wonderful power was there somewhere, for mother 
grew calm again, and kissing me, said "Good-night, 
my little lad," quite like herself once more. 



42 MY WONDER BOOK 

As I heard her going down the stairs, I turned on 
^Arms" m y piU° w > an d whispering, "Dear Everlasting Arms, 
please help father and mother right along, for Christ's 
sake, Amen," sweetly was lulled to sleep. 

Thirty, forty years afterward, one day in mid-ocean, 
it was my privilege to hold a service for the dead. As 
the ocean steamer slacked her speed, I scattered some 
roses on the waters of the deep, and above the words, 
" At whose second coming, the earth and sea shall give 
up their dead," above the noise of wave and wind, I 
seemed to hear the voice of a little boy saying : " Mother, 
don't cry. Sometime I will put flowers on brother's 
grave." 

On Sunday a memorial service was held in the little 
village. One scene remains before me most vividly. 
It was after the service, and Father Taylor was talking 
to mother. I heard her say, " Oh, did I love him too 
much?" And the old man almost fiercely said: 
" Mother Bates, you didn't love him half enough. God 
wants us to love His given treasures with all our 
hearts." Then as he left her, in a tone of deepest 
tenderness I just caught these words, "The Everlasting 
Arms." 



A Great Wonder 





From an old Locket, 1849 

When Louisa and I Entered the Ministry 



CHAPTER VI 
A Great Wonder 

THE Lord has surely wonderfully blessed me. I 
think as the days go by I realize this more 
and more. I never stand before an audience 
and find sinners responding to my invitation to seek 
Christ, but what I turn the pages of my Wonder Book 
back to when, seventeen years of age, in the little village 
of Pembroke, I sat before the bench making shoes. 
Then, as I think of the contrast, I say to myself, 
"Lewis, it is all the Lord's doings!" 

For years I had wanted to preach, but we were poor 
and I was struggling for an education. One day the 
presiding elder sent for me and said: "Lewis, the 
man who preaches at South Scituate has died. I 
can't get anyone else. You go down there and preach 
the next two Sundays." 

The next Sunday morning, I walked eleven miles to 
Scituate. I was frightened at my own audacity, but 
preached the best I could. At noon I walked one and 
a half miles for dinner, then back to the church again 
for afternoon service. In all I held four services that 
day and then walked eleven miles back to Pembroke 
that night. The next Sunday I repeated the program, 
including a twenty-five-mile walk and four services, 
and then to my surprise, and I am very sure also to 

45 



46 MY WONDER BOOK 

the presiding elder's, I was invited by the official 
Wonder board to be the preacher at Scituate for the next six 
months, until Conference, with seventy-five dollars for 
salary. 

I was surprised, delighted, and abashed, but at first 
would hardly consider the possibility of accepting the 
call, for, as I told them, " in those two Sundays I have 
preached all I know." 

But they insisted, and so I moved to Scituate, and 
the Lord did wonders there. Before I left in the 
spring it was my joy to break the ground for the 
foundation of a new Methodist church. 

The presiding elder then sent me to W . He 

said they had wanted someone bigger and wiser than 
I, but that I might supply for them a couple of Sundays. 

I went and found a good home in a farmhouse three- 
quarters of a mile from the church. Sunday morning 
came, and how it rained! 

My host said : " Of course you won't think of going 
out this morning. No one will be at church. No 
one ever does go here when it rains." 

But the boy-preacher thought otherwise. He was 
not very well supplied with raincoat or rubbers, but 
he managed to borrow an old cape from the farmer, 
but by the time he was ready to start, if possible it 
rained harder than ever. 

" Why, the church won't be even open," yelled the 
farmer, as the young man left the house. "The 
sexton won't be there, either," he added, but down 
the hill the preacher was fast getting beyond hearing. 



MY WONDER BOOK 47 

No church bell was rung. Dripping with rain, the 
preacher finally mounted the church steps. The church * G jjeat 
was closed, and as far as appearances went had been 
closed for the last twenty years. Still he stood on the 
doorstep and stared up at that old church, and the old 
church seemingly stared back at the minister. Just 
as he was wondering what next to do he saw a figure 
running down the road, and the old sexton, panting 
and puffing, soon made his appearance. 

With an apologetic air, he informed the minister: 
" That air church never has church on rainy Sundays," 
and then with a chuckle added, "Yer see, parson, 
there hain't many Baptists in this 'ere whole town." 

The door was opened, and soon minister and sexton 
were holding divine service together. The parson read 
a hymn. 

"Sorry I can't strike her up, parson," said the con- 
gregation of one. 

So was the parson, but he proceeded to read the 
scriptures, then prayed, and finally preached his 
sermon to the one auditor, who interspersed more 
reverent responses with chuckles of delight at the 
situation. The benediction was pronounced, and at 
noon the old man disappeared, promising soon to 
return. 

The minister spent the interim in meditation, and I 
hope profitable thinking. It was not long, however, 
before the sexton returned, bringing with him some 
lunch. Under certain conditions how good codfish 
and brown bread can taste! The lunch was followed 



48 MY WONDER BOOK 

by the afternoon service, in which still there were only 
A Great ^wo participants. 

The week went by, and Sunday came again, one of 
those rare country Sundays in which the sun shines 
so brightly, and the sky is so blue, that it seems almost 
as if earth and heaven were trying to make up for all 
past rainy-day delinquencies in just one day of glorious 
sunshine. The church was crowded, for the old sexton 
had done his work well. When you have the right 
kind of a sexton, there is no need of a town-crier or 
a weekly newspaper. This was the right kind. Every- 
where throughout the week he had told the people of 
the wonderful new minister that had come to town. 

"If yer'll believe it," he said, "he preached right at 
me, old Jabe Taylor, two mighty fine sermons. I 
tell yer, they'uns were strong in doctrine. Why, sir, 
he couldn't have done better if I'd been a whole camp 
meeting! Yer can do what yer want, but as for Jabe 
Taylor, give him, I say, every time, a minister that's 
not afraid of the rain!" 

At the end of his second Sunday in W the 

official board held a meeting, and told the young man, 
that, while unanimous in wishing his permanent ap- 
pointment at their church, there was one difficulty. 
For some time they had been determined to have only 
a married man. 

With a twinkle in his eye, the young man said: 
" Brethren, this is wonderful. If you are really under 
the strong conviction that this is the Lord's doings, 
you need not falter to do His will because of my 



MY WONDER BOOK 49 

single state in life. It is now May. On June twelfth ^ Great 
I shall be married, the Lord willing." Wonder 

A few weeks later, Louisa Field and Lewis Bates 

entered the little town of W to labor for the 

Lord, salary two hundred and fifty dollars a year, 
and untold wonders ahead of them in the Lord's 
vineyard. 

On that day when I assisted Louisa out of the little 
stage-coach at the post office, I felt that bringing her 
into my life was the greatest thing yet that the Lord 
had done for me. Now, as I look back through sixty 
years of happiness, I still praise God for the great 
wonder of June 12, 1851. 



" When the President Came " 



CHAPTER VII 
"When the President Came" 

AS ONE wanders from year to year through this 
/\ world, what inspiration there is in meeting 
God's big men! 

One of the greatest of these I ever met was an old 
farmer in Connecticut. We all called him Father 
Nichols, and I first became acquainted with him when 
I was sent to West Thompson, one of the earliest of 
my appointments. Father Nichols was perhaps the 
most prosperous farmer in that region, and was as 
dearly loved as he was prosperous. 

Corn was very scarce in 1857, reaching the extor- 
tionate price of two dollars a bushel, and the people 
were very poor. Father Nichols counted up his 
riches, and found that season he should have between 
three and four hundred bushels of corn. As soon as 
this fact was publicly known, an agent visited him and 
offered to take the whole lot at two dollars a bushel. 

"What shall you sell it for?" asked the old farmer. 

"Oh, for two dollars or more a bushel I shan't lose 
anything," was the dry response. 

"No, you don't!" said Father Nichols. "If you are 
really hungry, I will sell you one bushel for one dollar, 
but not a grain more." 

In vain the agent expostulated, for the spirit of 

53 



Came' 1 



64 MY WONDER BOOK 

"When the trusts and syndicates is not alone the product of the 
President^ twentieth century, but the old man remained firm. 
The agent, a sadder and a wiser man, drove away, and 
then the farmer sold all his corn to his neighbors for 
one dollar a bushel. Was it any wonder they all 
thought him a saint, and loved him as a Father in 
Israel? 

Methodism with all her traditions was dear to this 
old farmer's soul. In his house Bishop Asbury had 
held the first New England Conference, and Father 
Nichols gloried more in this fact than in his flourishing 
acres. He loved the old church in West Thompson. 
The church building in West Thompson had one grand 
qualification. It was large, so large that the congre- 
gations were usually quite lost in its great capacity. 
It was dedicated in the year 1800. When Bishop 
Soule of New York preached the dedicatory sermon, 
he had dryly remarked : " Fine building. Fine build- 
ing, but you will never fill it until the President makes 
you a visit." 

Years had rolled by, and now it was in 1857, but no 
President had ever come that way, and from the size 
of his congregation in that old church no minister 
had ever yet received special inspiration. But Father 
Nichols loved that old church — and at that time most 
of the religious life of the community seemed to dwell 
in the heart of that one old man; but a better day was 
coming, for one good man's prayers were, "preparing 
the way of the Lord." 

At Conference time he took the newly appointed 



MY WONDER BOOK 55 

young minister right to his heart and said : " On "When the 

Sunday mornings and afternoons preach for us, right President 

here in the old church. On Sunday evenings go over 

to Putman (eight miles distant), and spend the rest 

of your time in gathering together the people in the 

little schoolhouses in the region around. God bless 

you, my son; I know the Lord will be with you." 

And the young man did as he was told. Around 
that country he went from schoolhouse to schoolhouse, 
holding meetings whenever and wherever he could, until 
in six months' time he had twenty-two appointments. 

In what a wonderful manner the Lord revealed 
Himself to his heart, on starlight and on stormy nights, 
when, leaving at home wife and little one, he would 
travel miles through woods, across country, to preach 
the Gospel. The work was prospered, and the young 
man was building greater than he knew, for the " Lord 
was doing wonders in those parts." 

A baptismal service was announced for one Sunday 
morning. The old bell rang out the invitation. The 
minister had been in his little chamber, praying and 
preparing for the day's work, and had been so intent 
in his meditations that he had not even glanced out of 
the window, until the warning bell told him it was time 
to start for church. With his heart full of praise and 
prayer, he slowly walked up the hill. What was his 
amazement to see the old country road filling with 
people and teams. Double-horse carriages, and single 
teams — still they came. Four ox-teams he counted. 
The old horse-sheds were full. Some one said : " There 



56 MY WONDER BOOK 

"When the are ninety teams here. Did you ever hear of such 
PrC f^»athing?» 

The minister looked into the door of the church 
and found the seats and aisles crowded. One thou- 
sand people were surely there. Just as he was about 
to enter, Father Nichols came running up back of him. 
Tears were rolling down his cheeks, and as he clasped 
the young man's hand, "The President has cornel" 
he said. "The President has come, sure enough, to 
get this crowd here!" 

But the young man bowed his head and said, " We 
thank Thee, Lord, for Thy wonders I" 

After a simple Gospel sermon in the church, the 
people followed the pastor to the banks of the Quina- 
bog, a little river a quarter of a mile away, and there 
on confession of faith twenty-four people were bap- 
tized. Later in the day, just as the sun was going 
down, twenty-seven more went through the sacred 
rite. No wonder Father Nichols thought the Presi- 
dent had come to that community; and in truth, 
one mightier than he had been present in their midst! 

One of the results of that revival was a new church 
building erected in the town of Putman, as a sort of 
daughter church to the one at West Thompson. Fifty 
years afterward I had the pleasure of visiting both 
churches for rededicatory services. What was my de- 
light on that occasion to shake hands with brothers and 
sisters, who said, " Don't you remember me? Why, you 
baptized me in the old Quinabog, that day so long ago 
when the President came to West Thompson!" 



"When the Dumb Spake 



CHAPTER VIII 
"When the Dumb Spake" 

IN THE world's geography New Bedford is put 
down as a little seacoast city once famous for its 
whaling industry. How differently it stands in the 
geography of my Wonder Book! There I read: "New 
Bedford, an appointment in which the Lord did many 
wonders, where sinners were turned from the errors 
of their way, and where the dumb did speak!" 

There is an old record that shows, as a result of the 
work in New Bedford, two hundred baptisms, four 
hundred converts, and over one thousand Sunday- 
School members. How well I remember the visit of 
our presiding elder, who came to us in the midst of the 
revival. Our parsonage was next to the church, and 
just before the evening service one night he rang our 
bell. As I let him in, I noticed that he looked rather 
pale. To my cordial greeting his only response was, 
"Brother Bates, what is the matter?" 

"What do you mean?" I asked. 

"Why, there is a great crowd outside there blocking 
the street. You don't mean to say that two hundred 
people are waiting out there for the church doors to be 
opened ! " 

"They have come to hear you preach," I responded. 

"No, they haven't," he said. "'Tis the Lord's 

59 



60 MY WONDER BOOK 

-When the doin S s ! X had heard y° u were holding special meetings, 
Dumb and that there was great interest, but I didn't dream 
Spake " of anything of this kind." 

Leaving the parsonage, we passed through the crowd 
into the church. I urged the presiding elder to preach, 
but he refused, preferring to sit in the altar, an inter- 
ested spectator of the wonders before him. It was a 
wonderful meeting, and my heart thrills now as I 
think of what the Lord did that night. A number 
were seeking Him, when an usher brought to me a little 
two-by-five-inch slate, with pencil attached. On the 
slate was written, " I am dumb ! What shall I do to be 
saved?" Taking the pencil, I quickly wrote beneath 
the question, the word, "Gome!" and saw the usher 
take it down the aisle and hand it to a man who I knew 
was the most noted billiard player in New Bedford. 
There was a strange hush over that audience as the 
slate was passed back to me again, for they knew the 
dumb billiard player and knew him well. I read aloud : 
"Where shall I come?" and also my answer, "Come, 
now, here to this altar!" 

No sooner did he read the last word than forward he 
hurriedly came, and throwing himself on his knees, 
sobbed and cried like a child. Together we talked on 
that slate, and finally He who once in the streets of 
Old Jerusalem had unstopped the ears of the deaf and 
loosed the tongue of the dumb did His greater miracle 
in the heart of that man; for in a few minutes when I 
wrote the question, "Are you saved?" came the 
answer, " Glory to God, I am!" When I wrote again, 






MY WONDER BOOK 61 

"How do you know you are saved?" came the words, "When the 
"Therefore, being justified by faith, we have peace with ? u ? b lf 
God, through our Lord Jesus Christ ! " 

Do you wonder as I read those solemn words the vast 
congregation was moved by the spirit of the Lord? 

In the days that followed the saved billiard-player 
became a mighty witness. 

The morning after he was converted, a policeman 
visited me and offered any help we desired. I thanked 
him, telling him so far we had needed none, but urged 
him to visit us. He came that night and often after- 
ward. The tears in his eyes and his earnest attention 
told me that, though of another race and another faith, 
he too was feeling the wonders of the Lord. 

In a year or two my work in New Bedford was 
finished, and I moved on in the itinerancy. Years 
went by. One day I was riding on an open horse-car. 
I noticed a commotion and saw a man coming over the 
back of a seat near me. Suddenly, I found myself 
seized by both hands of my deaf and dumb friend. 

"How is it?" I wrote. 

"It is well with my soul/' was the quick reply. 

But God's wonders in those meetings were not con- 
fined to the dumb alone. 

At the close of one meeting, a woman, handsomely 
dressed, well-known in that town as a sinner, arose 
Wd said: "Friends, I am a wicked woman, but, 
God helping me, I will leave my fife of sin, and instead 
lof ruining people I will try to save them. I am going 
Tiome. There are eighteen girls in my house whom I 



62 MY WONDER BOOK 

"When the have been leading in the path of destruction. From 
Spafce" *^ s ^gkt they must follow Ghrist or leave me," and 
"there was joy in the presence of the angels over a 
sinner that repented, " that night. 

Another time an old man arose. Gray and worn 
with age, but, oh, so much more so from sin, with a 
gesture of despair he said, "I am a murderer! my 
God, is there mercy for me?" ; Mid the hushed 
solemnity that followed a sweet voice sang, " Tho' your 
sins be as scarlet!" Sobbing and groaning, the old 
man knelt at the altar while the minister told of One 
who forgave even His own murderers. And then the 
poor wretch told his story. He had lived in Mexico. 
One day he was provoked by his enemy to an open 
duel, and he had killed his rival. That was all. But 
was it all? For years, although justified by the law 
of the land, he had gone out in the morning with the 
brand of Gain in his heart, and had come in at night 
still carrying the brand there. Could there be any 
mercy for him? 

In a few moments tears were streaming down the 
poor suffering face, but they were of joy;/ for, in the 
wonders of that revival, God Himself had spoken peace 
to his heart. No wonder that the hearts of the citizens 
of that little city were stirred to their depths. It 
made no difference, the creed or the race : the wonders 
of the Lord were felt by all. 

I remember one morning during these meetings a 
call I received from a neighbor who represented the 
"liberal" faith in that town. He had never believed 






MY WONDER BOOK 63 

in revivals, but that morning he said to me: "Bates, "When the 
you go to the best picture store in New Bedford and ESSe" 
select two of the finest engravings you can find for 
your church vestry. I will pay the bill!" Then, with 
a tremor of the lip, he added, "I'm bound to get into 
this revival, somewhere!" 

How I enjoyed carrying out this art commission! 
A Methodist minister seldom has opportunity to become 
an art connoisseur. I went to the store and looked at 
picture after picture. After a little time enjoying them 
all, I then selected two. They were both of the 
Saviour, and one of them was that wondrous concep- 
tion of love in which the Good Shepherd is seen bear- 
ing the weak, helpless thing upon His own heart. 
The pictures I bought were hung upon the walls of our 
Sunday-School room, but I believe from that time 
the picture of the Good Shepherd has ever hung in the 
art gallery of my own heart. When I remember the 
real meaning of "He careth for you!" is, "He has you 
on His heart," amid the busy cares of life and also in 
its loneliness I often stop a moment, and look at my 
picture, and am comforted! 

I have loved that picture through the joys and sor- 
rows of life, and now, as I look back through the years, 
and realize the love of the Good Shepherd all along the 
way, almost of itself my heart sings : 

"Even down to old age, my people shall prove, 
My sovr'n eternal unchangeable love 
And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn 
Like lambs they shall stiU in his bosom be borne." 



"The Land Where Giants Dwelt 1 



CHAPTER IX 

"The Land Where Giants Dwelt" 

"And there we saw the giants, the sons of Anak which come of 
the giants, and we were in our own sight as grasshoppers, and so 
we were in their sight. — Num. xiii : 33. 

OUR last quarterly conference was to be held at 
the parsonage, and we were looking forward 
with especial interest to the Presiding Elder's 
visit to supper, preliminary to meeting the brethren 
that night. 

We had enjoyed our little appointment, for the Lord 
had shown forth His wonders, and we were so happy 
in the home we had found and in the friends we had 
made that we looked forward with a little anxiety to 
the next appointment, wondering if the itinerant's 
wheel would carry us again into such happy places. 

We enjoyed having the Elder with us at supper, 
and the more so that he apparently enjoyed his supper. 
In the course of conversation he told us about different 
appointments on his district, their discouragements and 
their glorious possibilities, and then said : " I am in great 
perplexity about one place. It is over at Lebanon." 

" Lebanon? " I said. " Where in the world is that? " 

"Oh, over here some miles in the hills," he said. 
"There is not a Methodist church near there, you see, 

67 



68 MY WONDER BOOK 

" The wh and no * even a c ^ ass - * n *^ e * own ; * wo hundred years 

Giants ago* a Congregational church was started; a hundred 

Dwelt" years later the Baptists came along and put up a 

church station, and now a few Methodist families have 

come in and are urging me to send them a Methodist 

minister the coming year. 

"They say they will pledge three hundred dollars for 
his salary, but have neither church-building nor par- 
sonage. Between the conservatism of the existing 
church membership, the worldliness of the outsiders, 
and the smallness of the Methodist contingency, it is 
veritably a 'land of giants/ The prospect of the 
barest living is so poor that I haven't the heart to send 
a man there next year, and yet how dare I to refuse 
them? What can I do?" 

Then turning to me with a wonderful smile, he said, 
" Young man, if you were Presiding Elder, what would 
you do?" 

I hesitated a moment. I thought of the difficulties, 
and then the glory of possibilities flashed before me. 

"Brother S ," I said, "don't turn them down. 

Don't. You mustn't. I tell you what I would do, 
although it may seem presumption on my part to 
suggest it to you. If I were you, I would send to them 
the very brightest, ablest man I had. Yes, I would; 
I would take the best and send him into this 'land of 
giants/ " 

"You would, would you?" asked the Presiding 
Elder, and Louisa said afterward there was certainly 
a peculiar twinkle to his eye. 



MY WONDER BOOK 



69 



"I would, indeed, I would/' was my earnest reply. 

He turned to me and quietly said, "I believe, young 
man, I'll take your advice, and Fll send my brightest, 
ablest, and best young man to them." Then he 
seemed to be in a strangely subdued mood the rest of 
the evening, and nothing more was said on the subject. 

That night, after he had gone, Louisa turned to me 
and said: " Lewis, you are in for it. You had better 
get your sling ready, for the Presiding Elder intends to 
send you to Lebanon, the 'land of the giants.'" 

I looked at her in amazement. "Nonsense," I said, 
"between your intuition and our conceit strange 
things indeed might happen, but never that. Why, 
I am only a boy, and the Presiding Elder knows I 
couldn't do it." Then I dismissed all thought of the 
matter from my mind. 

A few weeks later I went to our annual conference 
in a genuine old-fashioned ignorance of my fate for 
the coming year. What heroes those ministers were! 
What strength of heart it took to await in patient 
silence to hear the appointments read! To one man 
it would mean disappointment, for perhaps he would 
be sent to a distant place that had poor schools for his 
growing children. 

Here was an aged minister. What heroic service 
he had done, but no one now wanted him, and there 
would come to him the awful knell to a minister's 
heart — the word, "superannuated." A young man's 
name would be read. I knew he had a sick wife, and 
two hundred dollars' difference in salary meant to him 



'The Land 
Where 
Giants 
Dwelt" 



70 MY WONDER BOOK 

"The Land the difference between life and death. What issues 

Where were there ! And yet two hundred men sat and prayed 

Dwelt" quietly and solemnly, believing that the coming year 

God Himself would direct their lives. The Bishop 

arose, and with him they too all stood, and sang: 

Faith of our fathers living still 
In spite of dungeon, fire, and sword, 

Oh, how our hearts beat high with joy 
Whene'er we hear that glorious word, 

Faith of our fathers, holy faith, 

We will be true to thee till death, Amen. 

Our fathers, chained in prisons dark, 
Were still in heart and conscience free: 

How sweet would be their children's fate, 
If they, like them, could die for thee, 

Faith of our fathers, holy faith, 

We will be true to thee till death. 

Faith of our fathers, we will love 
Both friend and foe in all our strife: 

And preach thee, too, as love knows how, 
By kindly words and virtuous life. 

Faith of our fathers, holy faith, 

We will be true to thee till death. 

The Bishop wiped his glasses, and holding in his 
hand the roll of appointments, with a few kind words 
of sympathy and encouragement, commenced to read 
off the names, and I among the others heard him say, 
"Lebanon — Lewis B. Bates." 

Blessed Presiding Elder. As I entered that "land 
of giants," what an inspiration became your tactful, 



MY WONDER BOOK 71 

kind introduction to that land of the night when the "The Land 
quarterly conference met at the little parsonage, and q^^ 
how often I looked back, in the hard places that Dwelt" 
followed, to your words of implied praise. 

But the giants. Let me recall some of them. I 
think Captain Hull was the first one we met face to 
face. How dear he afterward became to us! One 
of the richest of the townsmen, he had pledged one 
hundred of the three hundred dollars that represented 
the strength of Methodism in Lebanon. 

When we first arrived in the little town we found 
men and women busily engaged in cleaning the one 
available hall for worship the next Sunday. 

On Sunday morning Captain Hull came to me 
and said: "Young man, I think you are all right, 
but I want to give you one word of warning. Out 
of your pulpit don't you ever dare to speak to me on 
the subject of personal religion. I won't have it, I 
tell you. Every Sunday I shall bring my armchair 
and sit right down in front of you, and you may ham- 
mer away all you wish. Call me anything you want. 
Use me for a living illustration, or a dead one, for all 
I care. That is your time. But when you get out of 
that pulpit, look out. If you ever say one word to me 
about my soul or salvation, I won't give the hundred 
dollars. I won't give one cent. I'll never come to 
church again, and you and the church together can go 
to grass for all I care. But hold on. If I like you, and 
I think I shall, if you behave yourself, I will have you 
and your wife come up to my house to dinner, Sunday." 



72 MY WONDER BOOK 

"The Land Exit this giant Number 1. 

Where I looked at Louisa and Louisa looked at me. 

Gi&nts 

Dwelt" "'The land of giants/" she whispered, "I guess 

we have met one. Hadn't you better be looking up 

your sling?" 

The days went by, and the work seemed to be going 
fairly well. Giant Number 1 evidently did like the 
new minister, for he invited him and his wife regularly 
to a Sunday dinner at his home, but the minister was 
troubled in spirit. 

It was my custom to go into my study on a Tuesday 
morning, and then try to block out a sermon for the 
following Sunday, but one Tuesday morning I entered 
my study in vain. I opened my Bible to find some 
text, but wherever I turned, against every verse I 
found written this name, "Captain Hull." I couldn't 
think, I couldn't study, for in everything the presence 
of that name prevented. Finally, I decided I would 
spend the day in calling, rather than in studying, but 
it seemed wherever I went the presence of Captain 
Hull followed me. 

Wednesday morning I went into my study again, 
and attempted to study, but it was useless. Thursday 
and Friday I repeated the experiment with the same 
result. I was getting desperate. I had no sermon for 
Sunday. I couldn't get one. I couldn't eat. I 
couldn't sleep. Saturday morning I arose with a 
grim determination, and turning to my wife I informed 
her I was going to call that morning on Captain Hull. 
With a half-frightened little look, she said, "God 



MY WONDER BOOK 73 

bless you," and with the inspiration of her "good- " The Land 
bye/' I slowly went up the road. It was a mile and Giants 
a half to Captain Hull's home, but it seemed as if it Dwelt" 
were five, and I wished it were fifty. I felt as if I 
were climbing a mountain. At length I reached his 
garden gate, and I think I stood there at least five 
minutes, admiring the fence probably. But finally 
I went inside, up the garden walk, and at last reluc- 
tantly put my hand on the knob of the door. I no 
more than had touched it when the door flew open, 
and there stood Gaptain Hull, with arms outstretched, 
and tears rolling down his cheeks, saying, "O my boy, 
why didn't you come before? I have been trying to 
pray the whole week, but I have been such a miserable 
old sinner that I haven't known how, and I want you 
to help me." 

We talked, and cried, and prayed together until 
towards the evening hour, and the next day — oh, the 
glory of that Sunday in Lebanon — and the next day 
perhaps the little hall was not crowded to hear about 
the Gaptain's conversion, and perhaps the minister 
didn't have a sermon, after all. I only know that after 
the minister had tried to preach a little, Gaptain Hull 
arose, and I heard him say, " Brother Bates, let me tell 
this people how the Lord has saved me." Then in tones 
quivering with emotion and earnestness he told them 
that he had been a wicked man. That years before he 
had known that he ought to be a Christian, but that he 
had hardened his heart, and would not listen to God's 
voice. That years had gone by, and when he had heard 



74 MY WONDER BOOK 

"The Land that a young Methodist minister was coming to town, 

Where 

Giants ^ e h&d felt strangely impressed that something was 
Dwelt" going to happen and had steeled himself against it. 
"The moment I saw him/' he said, "I knew the Lord 
had sent him after my soul, and I was afraid of him. 
I tried to frighten and bulldoze him, but it was of no use. 
With the Lord's help he got me on last Saturday, and 
something took place in this old heart of mine that 
has made a different man of me ever since. Glory 
be to God for working His wonders within my sinful 
heart." 

With such a "giant" for a leader, is it any wonder 
that soon, very soon, a new church building was needed 
in that community? For ninety days, with my own 
hands, cutting timber, driving teams, aiding in putting 
up the framework, I had the pleasure of helping to 
build a temple to the Lord, and several of the "giants" 
of that land were among my fellow-laborers. 

In that town were two old Quakers, who had never 
before seen a Methodist preacher. They had read that 
old theological curiosity, "The Iron Wheel," in which 
Methodism is caricatured, and because of this they once 
laughingly told me, absurd as it afterward seemed, 
when first they saw me, they had almost expected to 
see horns on my forehead. In those early days how 
our Methodism was maligned! But these Quaker 
giants came "to see," and remained to worship our 
Lord. 

One of the most powerful "giants of that land," 
was an old free-thinker blacksmith. For twenty-five 



MY WONDER BOOK 75 

years he had not been inside of a church, and he let it " Th e Land 

generally be known that if any " d d parson dared Giants 

to even come into his dooryard he would horsewhip Dwelt" 
him out of town." In all that twenty-five years to the 
knowledge of the townspeople no "Ministers' Meeting" 
had been held in the blacksmith's dooryard. 

Now, this blacksmith had a very lovely little girl 
by the name of Nellie. After I had been some months 
in Lebanon, one day I was asked to visit a sick woman 
quite a distance away. % I mounted my horse and went 
out on the country roads, until finally I found I had 
exhausted my directions, but had not found my 
destination. 

Ahead of me I saw a little white house that I recog- 
nized at once as belonging to the infidel blacksmith, 
and at the same time I noticed Nellie was playing in 
the front yard. Drawing up my horse, I called to her, 
asking if she could direct me to the sick woman's 
house. Very prettily she gave me the needed directions 
and in thanking her I handed her a little card, on which 
were some flowers and a text of scripture. Then 
down the road I went, found the sick woman, and after 
a pleasant call, in two hours' time came back the 
same way. As I approached the blacksmith's house, 
in a man who came out to the gate with a long black 
horsewhip in his hand, I recognized the wicked black- 
smith himself. I was about to pass by with a " good- 
afternoon," but he evidently had in mind further 
courtesies, for he ordered me to stop, and coming up 
to my horse's head told me to dismount "in quick 



76 MY WONDER BOOK 

The Land time," so he could whip me within an inch of my life! 
Giants The invitation was cordial enough, but I declined it, and 
Dwelt" asked him what was the matter. 

"Matter," he exclaimed. "Matter enough. Here 
for twenty-five years I have forbidden any minister to 
come near my house, and here you, you young strip- 
pling, have actually dared to come here proselyting my 
little girl, with your d d picture cards." 

A giant was before me, sure enough! What an 
opportunity! 

Driving my horse to the hitching-post, I deliberately 
dismounted, tied him, and started towards the black- 
smith, who was still swearing with such force that he 
had great difficulty in breathing at the same time. 

"Take off your coat, I say, take off your coat," 
he yelled. 

"Thank you, I prefer to keep it on," I said in what 
I meant to be a quiet tone. 

"Yer do, do yer? Wall, perhaps yer didn't know 
that I was going to horsewhip yer." 

"I think not," I said. 

"Yer wouldn't dare to strike back?" asked the old 
sinner, and I can see him now, lovingly rubbing that old 
whip, then snapping it, and all the time maliciously 
eyeing me. "No," he continued, "yer are a parson! 
No striking back for yer, is there?" 

Human parson nature could stand no more ! Wasn't 
there, though? 

"Look here, Mr. H ," I said, "I have not harmed 

you. I would like to help you and your little girl, 



MY WONDER BOOK 77 

but if you won't let me, that is certainly no reason for "The Land 
letting you horsewhip me. If I am a minister, I find ^ e f e 
no warrant for that. If you've nothing more interesting Dwelt" 
to say to me, I'll bid you ' good-afternoon' and con- 
tinue my journey." 

For some strange reason that old man let me mount 
my horse, while he still stood choking and swearing, but 

just as I started off he screamed, " Yer d d parson, 

yer, I'll let yer off this time, but don't yer ever dare 
proselyte my girl again, or there won't be enough 
left of yer to mount a sawhorse!" While I shouted 
back in almost boyish glee, "Thank you for your 
hospitality, Brother. Gome to church and see me 
sometime, won't you?" and as a parting shot, "And 
say, bring Nellie with you, won't you?" I could just 
catch the answering assurance that he would see him- 
self in a painfully unpleasant but orthodox region, 
first, and see him wildly shaking the long whip in my 
direction, when a bend in the road shut each from 
the other's admiring view. 

In a few weeks an entertainment was given in the 
village schoolhouse, and it so happened that Nellie 
spoke a simple little piece in a charming manner. 
At the close of the evening, I told her how much I had 
enjoyed her speaking, and then I am sure the good 
Lord must have inspired me, for I said : " Nellie, will 
you come next Sunday and speak that same piece at 
our Sunday-School concert in the Hall? You ask your 
mother and father, and if they are willing, you will 
come, won't you? " 



78 MY WONDER BOOK 

"The Land With a shy "Yes, sir" she ran home, and with a 
Where 
Giants heart full of prayer I awaited results. 

Dwelt" The next Sunday night the concert had just begun 

when, lo and behold, in came Nellie and Nellie's mother. 

And soon, if you'll believe it, in slunk the father into 

the back seat. 

From that night that infidel blacksmith giant kept 

on coming, and one night he delayed going home long 

enough to shake hands with the parson, but this in 

itself seemed so wonderful to me that I didn't know 

until months later how great were the wonders the 

Lord had done in his heart. That was shown to me 

at the Constitutional Baptism. 



His Wonder Book — 

The Constitutional Baptism 



CHAPTER X 
His Wonder Book — The Constitutional Baptism 

IT WAS in Lebanon, the "Land of the Giants/' it 
took place; and to this day the older residents 
talk about the time when "a minister baptized 
according to the Constitution." 

Two years ago it was my privilege to meet in my 
parlor a fine-looking gentleman, who I found was then 
mayor of a Western city. His first question was, 
" Don't you remember the man whom you baptized in 
Lebanon, fifty-three years ago, ' according to the 
Constitution'?" Did I remember him? I guess I 
did. 

You see how it was : we had been clearing the land 
of giants to such an extent, and the Lord was doing 
such wonders in bringing back many hearts to Him, 
that as a result one Sunday we announced there 
would be down at the little brook a baptism of thir- 
teen converts. In some ways this was the most 
peculiar baptism at which I ever officiated. How 
well I remember the splendor of the day. We all 
sang, " Rock of Ages," and I went forward to meet the 
first candidate. For some strange reason he insisted 
on being baptized face downward. I had no objections. 
Then a sister brought with her an old horn, and asked 
me if I had any objections to pouring water from that 

81 



82 



MY WONDER BOOK 



His Wonder 

Book— The 

Constitutional 

Baptism 



onto her. I felt the Lord's wonders could enter her 
heart in spite of horns, and therefore I baptized her 
in the manner she wished as she reverently kneeled. 

One by one I baptized the others, until I came to 
the end of the line, where stood a young man, the prin- 
cipal of the village High School. He had experienced 
a wonderful conversion, and now he appeared before 
me for baptism. The conditions of his home-life were 
most peculiar. His father was an atheist, and had 
forbidden him to be baptized. In no gentle terms he 
had told him that if he presented himself at the bap- 
tismal service, "no minister should ever live to do 
the job; because just as a sort of an introduction, 
there would come first such a row as that little town 
had never seen before." 

Many people had gathered on both banks of the 
little brook, and they had been quietly interested 
in all the proceedings; but now, as they saw me at last 
approach the young man, their interest was at its 
height. They made way for him as he came down 
towards the water's edge to meet me. Unmoved, ap- 
parently, by the excitement of the people, but filled 
with solemn reverence as he thought of all that bap- 
tism should mean to him, his face shone with holy 
ardor. I put out my hand to clasp his, when a man 
rushed down the bank and tried to push us apart. 
Purple with rage, shaking his fists at each of us in 
turn, the young man's father stood there, shouting at 
the top of his voice, " Didn't you know I had forbidden 
it? Didn't you know it, I say?" The minister did 



MY WONDER BOOK 83 

know it. Everyone knew it within a twenty-mile His Wonder 
radius. But the minister did not let go of the young n 00 ^? 16 i 
man's hand. What a scene the bystanders thought Baptism 
was in store for them, and greatly did they enjoy the 
prospect! Yet by this time, in that neighborhood so 
many giants had been spiritually slain, that, while 
eager to see the fun, it was very evident the specta- 
tors' sympathy was with the minister. Not one of 
them would have stood for anything but fair play. 

Having finished his first period of eloquence, the old 
man rushed forward, apparently to strike the minister; 
but as he sprang for the minister, a man rushed to- 
wards him, and the minister, even in the midst of per- 
forming his sacred office, had the pleasure of realizing 
that his enemy was being held away from him by the 
man who once had threatened "to horsewhip him 
from town" — his blacksmith friend! 

He heard him say with no uncertain sound, "Yer 
touch that air parson if yer dare. Fm with him." 

"Mr. B " said the minister, "may I ask you one 

question?" Assuming that silence gave consent, he 
continued, "Are you a Democrat?" Now, if there was 
one thing on the face of the earth dear to that old man 
it was the Democratic party. I doubt if the minister 

was more loyal to John Wesley than was Mr. B to 

Thomas Jefferson. In exciting political campaigns 
for miles around none could be found who stood more 
firmly by the principles of Democracy. No wonder 
at this late day, on such an occasion, to be publicly 
asked his party affiliations for a moment was sufficient 



84 



MY WONDER BOOK 



His Wonder 

Book—The 

Constitutional 

Baptism 



to paralyze even his anger. Apparently a little sub- 
dued, he sullenly answered, "You know I am. Are 
you a Methodist?" 

The minister bit his lip, but continued: "You say 
you are a Democrat. Now, as a Democrat, you will 
stand by the Constitution, will you not?" 

"Of course I will," snarled the man, still in the 
blacksmith's restraining arms. 

" Both of the state of Connecticut and of the United 
States?" 

"Yes," came another snarl. 

"Well, your son is of age, I presume?" 

"You know he is," he snapped. 

The minister raised his voice, and with uplifted hand 
continued: "Then I appeal to you as a consistent 
Democrat, sworn to be loyal to his state's and country's 
Constitution, do they not both read, ' Every man shall 
have the right, under God, to worship God according 
to the dictates of his own conscience'?" 

Amid the laughter of the crowd, the old man glared, 
and then with a sheepish expression quietly stood, 
while the minister led his son down into the water and 
solemnly said : " My brother, therefore, I shall baptize 
your son according to the Constitution of the state of 
Connecticut, and according to the Constitution of the 
United States." 

Only waiting the shortest possible time for the 
ceremony to be completed, the crowd gave three deaf- 
ening cheers for the Constitution, for the parson, and 
for themselves generally. 



MY WONDER BOOK 85 

In the midst of the crowd were two old men, and § iS i^ S? er 
both were chuckling with laughter. I heard the Constitutional 
one say, "He's a great one, my parson is," and the Baptism 
other said, "Well, I declare, that certainly was a 
Constitutional Baptism." 



When the Clock Struck Twelve 



CHAPTER XI 
When the Clock Struck Twelve 

PRAISE the Lord at all times/' says the Psalmist, 
and that has always seemed to me a direct com- 
mand. It is a great thing in the early hours of 
the day to give praise to the Lord. Then nature, 
earth, and the hearts of men, untarnished by the touch 
of day, seem very near to the great Eternal. What 
a beautiful custom once prevailed in Los Angeles, 
where, an aged citizen told me, in his childhood days 
the first one to arise in every household awakened the 
other members by singing God's praises. 

He said: "Many is the time, as I stepped out on 
my veranda, in every direction, from every window, 
have I heard men, women, and children singing 
1 Praise ye the Lord'; for you must know, sir," he con- 
tinued, "that the old missions taught us that, before 
we even said it to each other, we should say 'Good- 
morning ' to God, sir ! " 

Many a " morning- watch " have I held in some 
glorious old sunrise meeting in which it has seemed 
to me almost as if the King of Day had come with actual 
Heavenly healing in his wings ! 

Never shall I forget the noonday meetings of Joseph 
Cook and Dwight L. Moody. 

All-day meetings at different times in my ministry 

89 



90 



MY WONDER BOOK 



When the 

Clock Struck 

Twelve 



have I found most profitable, and the evening hour of 
nine has always seemed to me a time when holiest of 
influences plead with the hearts of men to be true, and 
to be right with their God; but perhaps one of the most 
impressive services I ever held was in the midnight 
hour when the clock struck twelve. 

It was amid our wonderful experiences in the Land 
of Giants that this service took place. One day a 
man drove up to our house and said: "Next Thurs- 
day night my sister wants to be married over in 
Salem. Our plan is to have the ceremony at the 
house, and afterward to have a little reception in the 
old Town Hall. 

"You know there is no Methodist minister in town, 
and we've heard one or two things about you in these 
parts; you don't marry 'by the constitution/ too, do 
you? Well, anyway, we thought we would like for 
you to come over and do up the job. What do you 
say, Parson?" 

Having ascertained my willingness to perform mar- 
riage ceremonies both in an orthodox and a constitu- 
tional way, he said as he started to go : " It is twelve 
miles over there, so of course you and your wife will 
have to plan to stay with us all night. Why can't you 
after the wedding have a 'preaching' in the Hall?" 

I rejoiced in the opportunity and soon saw the 
farmer riding off, eager to make the arrangements. 

Thursday came, and twelve miles over the hills we 
rode to a little farmhouse. The wedding was very 
much like other weddings, in which one always finds a 



MY WONDER BOOK 91 

strange mingling of joy and of sorrow; but the meeting When the 
in the old Town HaU that followed I shall never forget. xj££ c Struck 
The Hall was crowded. In front of me was a back- 
slidden Methodist minister, who refused when I called 
upon him to lead in prayer. In the congregation were 
nearly a hundred students and teachers from a neigh- 
boring academy, while sitting here and there among 
them were the people of the town and farm people from 
the surrounding country. It was a congregation great 
in its possibilities, for I knew most of these people 
seldom attended a religious service of any kind, and I 
knew, too, as I looked into their faces, how much they 
needed a personal knowledge of Christ. I looked at 
them and felt I had made no mistake in the selection 
of my text, for weariness — physical, mental, spiritual 
— could be seen written on the faces of many of them. 

I read, "Gome unto me all ye that labor and are 
heavy-laden, and I will give you rest." What a world- 
craving there is for rest! I realized it that night as 
God so wonderfully used that text with the people. 

I said, after a short sermon, "If there is anyone 
here tonight who is weary and heavy-laden, and 
would like to find the rest of which we have been 
talking, won't he please stand?" 

To my great joy, not only one, but all over the room 
dozens, including the backslidden Methodist minister, 
with bowed heads, stood! Tears of penitence were 
intermixed with halleleujah shouts, and many for the 
first time found the wonders of the Lord. It was after 
ten o'clock when we left the Hall, and with weary but 



92 MY WONDER BOOK 

When the happy hearts, we soon fell asleep in the old farm- 
Xwelve house. It seemed to me it was hardly a moment after 
my head touched the pillow when I was aroused by a 
loud knock on the door. 

"Brother Bates," said the farmer's voice, "it is too 
bad to disturb you, but a messenger is here from the 
academy, determined to see you. It seems that the 
teachers and pupils at the preaching tonight went 
home, some praising God, and others under such con- 
viction that the whole school is stirred. No one has 
gone to bed. Some are in tears, and some are shouting, 
but they all insist that you should be sent for to come 
and preach to them. What do you think? Had you 
better go?" 

Had I better go? How my heart jumped at the 

chance, for I knew that P Academy was at that 

time the largest school of its kind in New England, 
and that its four hundred pupils were from all sections 
of the United States and of Canada. 

The building was located on a hill, and as I hurriedly 
approached, I found it lighted from attic to cellar 
and the door already opened. (How God's doors always 
are!) 

The people were crowding around the door, but 
eagerly made room for me as I was ushered into the 
school-chapel. It already was full, but the president 
asked me if there were any objections to inviting the 
"help" to the service. Gladly they, too, soon crowded 
into the room, and we began to sing just as an old 
grandfather's clock in the hall struck twelve. 



MY WONDER BOOK 93 

What a night that was! In the preceding meeting When the 
at the Town Hall one of the first to speak had been one xwelve StmCk 
of those teachers. She had said: "For years I have 
been weary and homesick, tired of sin and seeking 
peace. Tonight I have come to Jesus, and He has 
given me rest!" 

Then, at the old academy I preached again, or tried 
to, and as I invited all to join in the service, her voice 
was among the first to testify to God's wonders in a 
human heart. What an influence it had upon pupils 
and fellow-teachers! All seemingly were seeking the 
Lord. 

It was three by the clock when we sang as a closing 
hymn, "Nearer, my God, to Thee!" We sang the 
whole four stanzas, and then again we sang the grand 
old hymn through. The stars had almost faded from 
the sky as we walked back to the farmhouse, but a light 
more wonderful than the light of stars or of day itself 
had broken forth into souls that night, for it was 
hearts as well as voices that had sung: 

"Or if, on joyful wing 

Cleaving the sky, 
Sim, moon and stars forgot, 

Upward I fly. 
Still all my song shall be, 
Nearer, my God, to Thee, 

Nearer to Thee." 

Just what record Heaven has made of that meeting 
I do not know. I only know that many times in my 
life, in a way that has blessed this old heart, have I 



94 MY WONDER BOOK 

When the heard from the meeting that was held "when the clock 
C, ° Ck TweTve struck twelve." 

Years went by, and I was in another country among 
a strange people. One day I was climbing Mars Hill 
just outside of Athens, when I heard a woman's 
voice, and it said: "Yes, it is! It surely is Brother 
Bates! I know his voice! Brother Bates, don't 
you remember me? I heard you preach one night at 

twelve o'clock in the old P Academy in Salem, 

Connecticut! Don't you remember? I had never 
seen you before, or have never seen you since, but that 
night I found the wonders of the Lord!" 






My Antiphonal Choir 



CHAPTER XII 
My Antiphonal Choir 

I NEVER had but one antiphonal choir, and al- 
though in a general way I like such choirs, I 
didn't enjoy this one at all. 

One of God's most wonderful promises is, " Behold, 
I have set before thee an open door." He has been 
good in showing me "open doors"; often my only 
trouble has been that sometimes several have seemed 
to be equally open at the same time. Yet I never have 
waited patiently and humbly but that in His own good 
time He Himself has taken me by the hand and led 
me through the right one. 

When, by the old ruling of the itinerancy, I found my 
time was completed in my happy little appointment 

at A , I found three open doors before me. At 

first I could not tell which was mine, but while praying 
over the matter one day, seven men came through one 
of these doors, found the Presiding Elder, and asked 
that I might be sent to the town they represented. 
The Presiding Elder, still in doubt as to the situation, 
carefully questioned this committee, and turning to 
the chairman, said : " I suppose, my brother, you are 
a member of this church to which you are so anxious 
that I should send Brother Bates?" 

"No," was the unexpected answer, "I am not even 

97 



98 MY WONDER BOOK 

M y a Christian, but you let us have our man, and these 
Choir conditions may all be changed." 

Perhaps it was this remark that seemed to the 
Presiding Elder an indication of the Lord's leading. 
At any rate I was not surprised a few weeks later to 

find myself in X , the home of the committee of 

seven. 

What a day in our lives was that first Sunday at 

X ! We had had no opportunity to become 

settled in our new home, for the former minister was 
still in the parsonage. No one asked us to dinner. 
No one asked us to supper. 

As I entered the church in the morning, I was told 
I must be careful what hymns I announced, for this 
church was unusually blessed at the present time, 
inasmuch as it had two choirs! I was told, too, this 
plan had one disadvantage, for, while not antiphonal in 
the ordinary sense, as one would not sing if the other 
did, they did enjoy answering each other back in ways 
other than musical! They were known as the "Old" 
and the "Young" choirs! 

With a little justified hesitancy, I read a hymn. I 
think it was "What a friend we have in Jesus V 
The organ started the prelude, finished it, began the 
hymn, but played an organ solo, for with it not one 
person sang in that whole church! Again the organ 
gave an emphatic double chord for encouragement, 
and then played through the whole hymn, but it was 
again the case of an organ solo. No sound of human 
voice came from anyone. How I wished I could have 



MY WONDER BOOK 99 

sung! I closed my eyes, bowed my head, and prayed My 
for grace. Choir 

Two other times that morning this musical program 
was repeated, the only variation being in a change of 
hymn. My memory may fail me, but I am under the 
impression that the last hymn I announced was "Oh, 
for a thousand tongues to sing!" The organist each 
time did well, and I tried to, but not one note was sung 
that Sunday morning! Surely my selections had not 
been exactly suitable to the occasion, or else there were 
conditions of which I evidently was ignorant. 

Just before I pronounced the benediction, I said 
mildly, or tried to make it mildly: "Friends, this 
afternoon we will hope to praise the Lord with singing! " 

At noon I found a good old-fashioned class-leader 
with a class-leader's voice for singing. "Brother 

A ," I said, "we are going to have congregational 

singing this afternoon, and you must lead it." And 
he did, and, with the exception of the members of 
those two choirs, the whole congregation joined most 
heartily. From that time on we never had a service 
without singing. It is true it was sometimes by one 
choir and sometimes by the other, sometimes purely 
a congregational affair, but we always had something! 

That first Sunday another pleasure was given to me, 
the announcement of two socials for the following 
week. One was to be given by the "Old Ghoir," and 
one by the "Young Ghoir." 

The first Sunday in a new pastorate, under any 
conditions, is a trying day, but when I reached my room 



!Oo MY WONDER BOOK 

. M ? late in the night of that first Sunday in X , I was 

Choir utterly exhausted, and sleep came only towards morn- 
ing, when I remembered my Father had sent me to that 
appointment and He would lead me. 

The days went by, and the two-choir element was a 
disturbing factor in every department of our church 
life! 

It was December, and I called my official board 
together to ask them the advisability of trying to 
increase the spirituality of the church by holding 
special services. To my great surprise and regret, 
the board was not in sympathy with this plan and to 
a man protested against it. I told them, that with 
all due respect for their judgment, I was under such a 
strong impression that the Lord was leading in that 
direction that I felt impelled to announce special ser- 
vices for every evening of the coming week. They 
shook their heads dubiously and evidently were dis- 
appointed in their pastor! 

The treasurer stood by and solemnly said : " Brother 
Bates, if you do that, you will increase expenses. 
You can't afford to go against our wishes. Your 
salary will suffer. There is reason in all things !" 

I had been the pastor of that church then for eight 
months, and for salary had received for all my valua- 
ble (?) services the munificent sum of eighty dollars. 
At that time I had four children. 

"Well, my brother," I said, "I know you all want 
sinners saved. We must have these meetings! If 
my children get hungry because of them, I can go out in 






MY WONDER BOOK 101 

the streets and earn bread!" I enjoyed my own im- **y . 
plied heroism but sadly realized I was not popular choir 
with my board. 

I gave out notice of special meetings to be held every 
night of the following week, and held them, but sixty 
was the largest number in any of the congregations. 

Without again consulting my board, the next Sun- 
day morning I repeated my notice of the week before — 
that every night of the coming week religious services 
would be held in our church. Nothing was said further 
during the day, but just before the evening meeting, 
as I was preparing for service, I looked out of my 
study-window and saw seven men coming up the 
garden-walk! I tried to greet them with cordiality, 
although I surmised their errand. 

"Brother Bates," said their leader, "it is my duty to 
tell you that at a board-meeting we held this noon, we 
were appointed a committee to tell you that in the 
opinion of that board you are acting foolishly and 
wickedly to continue the meetings this week, and to 
tell you that you must from the pulpit this evening 
recall your morning notice of those meetings !" 

The leader was really at heart such a genial good 
fellow that I felt sure he did not like his part in the 
errand any better than I did. I liked the way he 
avoided my eye; in fact, I felt impressed the whole 
seven were not quite as confident of the righteousness 
of their cause as their present errand would indicate. 

I thanked them courteously, told them I was com- 
pleting my preparations for the evening service, and 



102 MY WONDER BOOK 

Antiphonal as ked them to all join me in prayer for the best interests 
Choir of our little church. As we arose from our knees I 
said, " Candidly, I would like to follow your advice, 
brethren, but I know you will pardon me when I tell 
you the Lord is leading me differently ! " Then I 
quickly changed the subject and together we went to 
evening service, but no recall of any morning notices 
was given that night; in fact I don't think anyone 
thought there would be. In some form for four 
weeks the main points in this drama were repeated. 
Sunday morning the pastor would announce services 
for every night of the ensuing week. At noon the 
members of the board would meet and decide to wait 
on him to express their disapproval, and at night 
they would appear at the parsonage. The minister 
got to where he looked for their regular appearance 
Sunday nights as a part of his spiritual preparation 
for the evening labors. 

The worst of it was, though, there were apparently 
no results from the extra meetings. The minister was 
discouraged, and the board was getting angry at what 
they considered their pastor's foolish obstinacy. 

"Brother Bates," they finally said, "you must stop 
this! You are wasting gas and doing nothing! We 
will stand this nonsense no longer." 

It took some courage to meet them, but God was 
with me. "Brethren," I said, "let us pray!" When 
I arose from my knees I said : " I am sorry for your 
disappointment. Believe me, I want to please you, 
but something speaks so strong within me that I dare 



MY WONDER BOOK 103 

not disobey its voice, and that voice tells me I must My 
go on! One privilege the Methodist Discipline gives choir 
to all its ministers — by it a minister has the right in a 
church to preach as often and when he likes. The 
special meetings must continue next week. I dare not 
stop them!" 

It was with a heavy heart I went into the service that 
next Monday night, although I noticed a larger con- 
gregation than usual. I preached a poor sermon, but 
it contained a glorious gospel. I was sad and heart- 
weary. I told the people about the priceless friend- 
ship of Jesus Christ, of what a friend He had been to 
me, and how I wished they, too, were all His friends. 
Then in closing I said: "Friends, it may be there is 
someone here tonight that has never been His friend, 
who would like this moment to begin to know Him. 
If there is one such, will he stand?" 

I bowed my head, and closed my eyes. I was very 
weary, and if you will believe it, in spite of all my 
prayers, I am afraid I expected no answer to that 
invitation. But I heard a noise in the rear of the house 
and I saw a man springing to his feet ! It was actually 
the non-church member, non-Christian chairman of the 
committee of seven! Another man arose, then a 
woman, a child, then more men and women, until the 
aisles were filled by human beings seeking to pray at 
God's altar! Sixteen testified that night that they 
had found Jesus there. Never shall I forget the thrill 
that filled all our hearts when the " chairman," reaching 
the altar, not kneeling, but throwing himself prostrate, 



104 MY WONDER BOOK 

M y prayed out loud for God to help him. A breathless 
Choir silence was at length broken by groans and sobs of 
repentance. I looked, and found " Young Choir " and 
" Old Choir" all mixed in together. The meeting had 
not been dismissed, but it seemed to me as if everyone 
there was loving everyone else, and all were asking 
for forgiveness! The "chairman" had just arisen, 
saying, "Glory to God! I am saved!" when the 
leading soprano of the " Old Choir " struck up " What 
a friend we have in Jesus!" The alto of the "Young 
Choir" joined in, and soon "Old Choir," "Young 
Choir," official board, committee of seven, and all 
were united in one grand chorus. All were made one 
in the friendship of Christ Jesus. 

When I pronounced the benediction, the treasurer 
stepped up to me and said: "Brother Bates, here is 
four hundred dollars on your salary. I have had it 
ready for some weeks, but I wouldn't give it to you 
because I was mad about your persistency. Forgive 
me!" 

For seventy nights afterward, unrebuked and un- 
criticized, we held preaching services in that church. 

As a part of the results, a church debt of nine thou- 
sand dollars was cleared; one mile away a new mis- 
sion church was built; and best of all, four hundred 
new souls were added to the number that through the 
ages shall sing " What a friend we have in Jesus ! " 



Some of God's Great People 



CHAPTER XIII 
Some of God's Great People 

" I'U make your great commission known, 
And ye shall prove my Gospel true, 
By all the works that I have done 
By all the wonders ye shall do" 

— From an old camp-meeting hymn. 

EARLY in my ministry I discovered that the 
encyclopaedias of earth did not contain all the 
names of God 's great people. 

I was only eighteen years of age, a mere boy, and I 
was on my first charge, when one day a brother came 
to me and said: 

"Two and a half miles from here there lives one of 
the Lord's own saints. She has been paralyzed for 
over twenty years, so she cannot move that hand or 
foot, but a wonderful spirit is imprisoned in her frail 
little body. She is the happiest person I have ever 
met. Go and see her, boy. Perhaps her minister can 
do something for her. Anyway/' with a quizzical 
look at my youthfulness, "if you go to see her, there 
will be a blessing about it, somewhere ! " 

So I went, and it required all the enthusiasm and 
courage of a boy's heart for me to presume to make 
that call. Through the green fields, across a brook, up 
hill, down into the valley, I went, and finally two and 

107 



108 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of a half miles from the church, and a mile from the main 
road I found a little old-fashioned farmhouse. In 



People 



its early days it may have been worth five hundred 
dollars, but, judging by its appearance, at that time 
it would not bring the price of the land on which it 
stood. The whole place seemed painfully to have 
written all over it the word, " mortgaged." I stood 
before that little house. I had not yet got used to 
pastoral calling, and the presumption of the present 
visit seemed to me specially great and to increase 
in greatness as I used the old knocker on the door. 
When calling on an invalid and one's courage fails him, 
one does not even have the comfort of considering the 
possibility that perhaps, after all, the host may not 
be at home! 

So timidly I stood on the old stone which served as 
doorstep. In a moment the door was opened, and I 
was greeted with a pleasant smile by the sister of the 
sick woman, but the smile lost all charm for me when 
I heard her say, " Please take off your boots and leave 
them outside!" 

I did as she requested, although I felt awkward 
and ill at ease in the felt slippers that she offered me 
to take the place of my boy's cowhides. Then she 
explained that her sister was so sensitive to the slight- 
est noise that she could not even bear the sound of 
ordinary footsteps, and ushered me into a dark little 
chamber. I can see it now with its low, slanting roof 
and whitewashed walls. 

As my eyes got accustomed to the dim light, I went 



MY WONDER BOOK 109 

over to the bed, and putting out my hand said, " I am Some of 
the new minister and have come to see you. How People 
do you do?" 

But no hand was outstretched to meet mine. I laid 
my own on the poor white fingers, but received no 
answering pressure; for years had gone by since there 
had been any power of motion or f eeling in that hand ! 
I did see her lips move, and in the faintest whisper 
I heard these words, "God bless you! I have been 
praying for you. Welcome!" 

Even now, as I look back through the years, it seems 
to me as if that welcome of hers were almost an earnest 
of the eternal welcome that in the world to come God 
will give to all His children. A strange feeling of joy 
was in my heart, as I thanked God that He had called 
me to His ministry; all my self-consciousness and 
awkwardness had disappeared, as I sank on my knees 
to pray. 

"Dear Lord/ 7 I began, "bless this, Thy child!" 

"He has," was the response in a weak, sweet voice. 

"But bless her right now!" I continued. 

"He does," came from the pillow. 

"Give her all she wants." 

"He has." I remembered the mortgaged-looking 
house, and tried to continue my prayer, but once more 
was interrupted with, "Just thank Him, won't you, 
for being so good to me, instead of asking Him for more 
this time?" 

The young minister arose from his knees with a new 
glory in his soul, and a new vision of prayer. The 



110 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of voice continued, halting now and then between the 
8 Pcoplc wor d s > but never for a moment losing a certain quality 
of pathetic sweetness : " Ever since I heard you were 
coming, I prayed for you, my boy. I have prayed 
days, and I have prayed nights, and God has given me 
this message for you. 

"You are just entering the vineyard, but let me tell 
you, God's blessing is upon you. Souls shall be your 
hire, and the people shall say, 'We will go with you, 
for we have heard that the Lord, is with you/ This 
is the Lord's message to you, my son, and it is my 
welcome to you. My book, sister," and she sank 
back exhausted, while her sister handed me a little 
book from under her pillow. It was a shabby covered 
little blank-book, but its value in gold could not be 
estimated. She called it her Prayer Book, and in it 
was written a list of the names of her neighbors and 
friends, against fifty-one of which were placed tiny 
crosses. For some of these names, during the night- 
watches and agony-hours of twenty-two years, she 
had prayed; and the glory of it all was that the fifty- 
one crosses showed fifty-one wonderful answers to 
prayer, for fifty-one of sixty-two recorded names 
during that time had become earnest Christians. 

Out of her presence I went, no longer conscious of 
youth, or awkwardness, or ignorance. I was a servant 
of the living God, and had just been face to face with 
one of His saints. Ahead of me was a great life-work, 
and I was confident in the Lord, for she had promised 
that the Lord would be with me! No, the names of 



MY WONDER BOOK 111 

all of God's great people are not in the encyclopaedias Some of 
- , , . God s Great 

of earth! 



Today the sad news comes of Ira Sankey's translation. 
In turning over the pages of my Wonder Book, I find 
his name in my special catalogue of men for whom the 
Lord has done great things. 

^Two scenes are brought before me. It was towards 
night, and I was walking wearily home, across Boston 
Common. I found myself approaching a crowd of 
people, over whose heads came in the thrilling accents 
of one of the sweetest voices I have ever heard the 
words: "Razor-straps! Razor-straps! The finest in 
Boston! Here they are! Only fifty cents apiece!" 
There was something about the tone or quality of that 
voice that even with its unpoetical message held listen- 
ing a growing multitude. 

With difficulty I got near the singer, and found in 
him an ordinary-looking young man, standing on a 
soap-box selling razor straps! 

Years went by, and I was honored with a platform 
seat in a great tabernacle. It held at least seven 
thousand people. A man stood before them, and while 
while that vast congregation offered him the perfect 
tribute of sympathetic silence, I heard him sing, as 
he alone could, " There are ninety and nine that safely 
lay." I looked upon him, a man still young but 
wonderfully blessed in God's service, and as I thought 
of the other time when I had heard that voice, I bowed 
my head in thanksgiving, for I realized it was the Lord 
that had done it, that had taken a poor razor-strap 



People 



112 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of pedler, and had made of him one of earth's mightiest 

G ° d,8 p?o e ple Poachers in song. 

It is a privilege to meet God's great people in high 
places, as well as in the lowly walks of earth. One 
of the big days of my life was when President Grant 
attended the Martha's Vineyard camp meeting. Grand 
old hero ! I always had loved him from the war-times, 
but after the President came to camp-meeting, he 
had entirely won my heart. 

It was in the good old days of camp-meeting virility 
and we were holding our meetings around an altar at 
which I had seen the Lord do great things for hundreds. 

The President was the guest of the camp-meeting 
association, and courteously accepted its invitation 
to attend divine service. It had always been our cus- 
tom to follow a preaching service with an altar-service 

The President had listened most attentively to the 
sermon, but the leaders thought surely he would not be 
interested in an old-fashioned Methodist altar-service. 
The committee in charge felt it was a most awkward 
situation and decided to wait on the President and 
his suite, and suggest to them that at the close of 
the preaching service, with all propriety they could 
retire. Two were chosen to perform this office. 

While a hymn was being sung, they tiptoed to the 
seats of the presidential party. When he learned 
their mission, the President shook his head, saying 

NOTE — At the wonderful funeral services of Dr. Bates, when, the paper tells us, 
ten thousand people whom he had helped looked on his face for the last time, 
Bishop Hamilton referred to this camp-meeting scene and made this statement: "I 
have lately come across a memoir of President Grant in which he says it was 
owing to this service, conducted by Dr. Bates, that he .became a changed man, — 
and that he dated a new life from that meeting." 



MY WONDER BOOK 113 

it would be a pleasure to stay. There was no help Some of 
for it, but no one just wanted to take charge of that people 
service. Finally the Presiding Elder said, "Bates, 
you must go ahead with this, but go carefully! I 
wouldn't ask anyone forward for prayers this night." 
With this for inspiration, but also with a heartfelt 
prayer for guidance, I stepped forward and simply, 
as the only way I can, gave forth the grand old Gospel 
invitation. I forgot the President, I forgot his secre- 
tary, I forgot the Presiding Elder's injunction. I only 
saw before me a lost world and above me a saving 
Christ. I couldn't help giving the usual invitation. 

"Friends," I said, "we are all children of our Heav- 
enly Father, journeying home. Some of us are weary 
and sinful, and almost lost. Will all of you that love 
the Lord Jesus Christ and are trying to follow Him, 
come forward to this altar, that we may pray together? " 

There was a breathless moment of silence. No one 
stirred, and then one after another came until the 
altar was filled with people. We had a wonderful 
service, and during it all no one was seemingly more 
devout than President Grant. 

And Mammy White, the old colored woman, prayed, 
and then the Presiding Elder followed in prayer. 
Bishop Haven poured forth his wonderful eloquence. 
Old Rousers, the pop-corn vender, uttered his pe- 
tition, and doctors of divinity and college professors 
joined in the supplications. Who shall say which 
voice was the first to reach the heart of the Great 
Father? 



114 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of Grant had many great moments in his life, but I 

People doubt if ever he stood higher in the sight of his Maker 

than he did that morning when with, bowed head he 

stayed at camp meeting and joined his prayers with 

those of God's more lowly children. 

Later in the day, at the invitation of the President's 
wife, at the cottage where they were guests, I called. 
With queenly charm she greeted me, and then, hand- 
ing me a little Bible, asked me to read a few words and 
pray with them; and President, his wife and friends 
knelt as we prayed together to the Ruler of all nations. 

The sun had already sunk behind the distant cliffs 
when I heard the bell chiming for the evening service, 
and I hurried away, thanking God for His own great 
people. How many there are of them, of every rank 
and type! 

William Taylor is one that stands in the foremost 
rank. What a man of God he was! One night at a 
certain camp meeting, word was brought that William 
Taylor had arrived from Africa. Through some mis- 
take in the management, no provision had been made 
for his lodging, and I had the honor of sharing with him 
my own room. Just before he retired, he took from 
his bag a slab of marble ten by twelve inches and taking 
off the pillow, placed that in its stead upon the bed. 

"What do you do that for, Bishop ?" I inquired. 

"For twenty years I have slept only as I have 
pillowed my head upon that marble," he said. "In 
the midst of the forest jungle, on my missionary tours, 



MY WONDER BOOK 115 

or here in the home-land, never mind how fevered with Some of 
care, that pillow has always brought me sweet rest!" People 

Grand old man ! Shall I ever forget your impassioned 
appeals for God's children in Africa? 

Has ever anyone who once heard him forgotten him 
or his message? The next day I heard him say: "I 
was in the gloom of the dark continent. For one thou- 
sand miles I had traveled, and for a thousand miles 
I had met the bones of human beings whitening in 
the sun, and bones and skulls seemed to come together, 
even as they did in the vision of Ezekiel. Each skull 
looked at me with reproach, and then in tones of re- 
proach a vast multitude seemed to speak and this is 
what I heard them say, 'O white man! Why didn't 
you come before? Why didn't you come before?'" 

A few years ago I was passing through a little town 
in California. It was a beautiful town, as only a 
California climate and California blossoms can make 
beautiful. An old cloister was of greatest historic 
interest, while modern architecture had done her 
best with picturesque villas. But it was not California 
flowers, nor cloister, nor villas that gave that town 
its greatest charm, for this town was the home of Bishop 
Taylor in his last days. With tears in their eyes, the 
people still show you a little stream on the outskirts of 
the town, where in the delirium of the fever, the 
Bishop hurried in the night hours, and getting into a 
little canoe tried to paddle away to Africa! 

"They are calling me!" he said. "I must go! I 
must go once more to Africa to tell them of Jesus!" 



"A Little Child Shall Lead Them" 



CHAPTER XIV 
"A Little Child Shall Lead Them" 

TO AN old Methodist minister perhaps the favorite 
conception of his work is that which emphasizes 
the relation of a pastor to his flock as that of a 
father to his little children. 

In sixty years of Christian ministry I have met 
noble men and women, who as men and women have 
first found the wonders of the Lord. I can never 
hear of any soul approaching the Lord Jesus Christ, 
that it does not seem wonderful in my eyes; but when 
I see a little child deliberately and lovingly for the first 
time placing his hand in the Saviour's, my heart thrills 
within me at the greatness of a Father's love. 

My parents gave me to the Lord when I was born, 
and I do not doubt that I always belonged to Him, and 
yet at seven years of age there came a moment of con- 
sciousness when I knew that deliberately I was choosing 
my Saviour. I was only a tiny lad, but at that moment 
in the little parsonage kitchen class meeting there came 
into my heart a peculiar peace, that has grown the 
brighter through the wear and tear of seventy years. 

In my ministry I have met many good people who 
have not believed in child-conversion, but my own 
experience has taught me that the majority of child- 
converts "hold out" much better than do the adults. 

119 



120 MY WONDER BOOK 

"A Little When but a lad of thirteen, I left my home to go out 

T Chi ! d J? hal l,into the world for myself. My dear old father put into 
Lead Them" . _ . ■ , n . 

my hand two ten-cent pieces and one five-cent piece. 

"It is all I have, my boy," he said. 

My father was an old Methodist preacher. He 
never had had more salary than three hundred dollars 
a year. Self-forgetfulness and self-sacrifice were his 
portion for more than half a century, and God had 
wonderfully transmitted it into heavenly treasure. So 
with twenty-five cents in my pocket I left him, but I had 
treasured up in my heart the choicest legacy that can 
come to any child — the blessing of Christ-like parents. 

Two years went by. I had worked hard, day-times 
at my trade, and nights at my studies. The time came 
at last when I was going home for Thanksgiving. 
How much I went without so as to save money for my 
fare I My mother and father were now in another 
pastorate, and for this happy Thanksgiving Day all 
the other children were already at home; only I re- 
mained to come. 

I got off the cars, and hunted up the stage that was 
to take me a thirty-mile drive home over the hills. 
By some good fortune that seems to favor boys I soon 
found myself sandwiched into the driver's seat. What 
a ride that was through those New Hampshire hills! 

As the day wore on, I felt it only proper to make 
the acquaintance of the driver. Did you ever really 
know an old-time stage-driver? This one was a 
veritable pilot of those thirty miles! What he didn't 
know was not worth knowing. I can see him now as 



MY WONDER BOOK i 2 i 

he told me who lived in the yellow houses, who were "c^UdSh 11 
going to get married, who had died, and that Squire Lead Them" 
Whiting was going to run for the legislature. Best 
of all he knew where my father and mother lived! 

"Parson Bates?" he said. "Oh, yes! You get off 
at the next turn. Go a quarter of a mile until you 
come to a stile. Walk through until you come to 
another, then up a hill, and down in the next valley 
you will see a little farmhouse. That's your home, 
I reckon!" When he said "home" I could have 
hugged him on the spot ! 

Through the stiles, down the road, up the hill, down 
into the valley I almost ran until blinded with tears I 
found myself at last in my mother's arms. 

That night — shall I ever forget it? — my father read 
from the Old Book in Samuel, how the prophet had 
once asked his servant this question, "Are here all thy 
children?" Closing the book with those words, he 
wiped his dear old eyes and knelt to pray. The old 
man, although he tried again and again could only 
say: "0 Lord, we thank Thee. Here we are, and all 
the children Thou hast given us, and the children are 
all here! The children are all here!" It was a 
wonderful prayer, for it was uttered sixty years ago, 
and its echoes are still in my heart. 

It is no wonder that through the years, "Are thy 
children, spiritual children, all here?" has become the 
solemn question in my own ministry. 

On one of my early appointments we were holding 
special meetings, and the children were very responsive 



122 MY WONDER BOOK 

"A Little to the spiritual influences. One little boy of twelve 

Child Shall , - , f u , A 

Lead Them" c l aime( l to be converted. 

Near by lived an infidel shoemaker, who was bitter 
in his denunciations of the meetings, pastor, and con- 
verts. That this little boy of twelve years should 
claim conversion was a special annoyance to him. 
From the talk of the men in and out of his shop he was 
not long in discovering that Willie Taylor, the little 
boy, not only professed conversion, but was actually 
testifying in the meeting, as to the wonders of the 
Lord in his own heart. 

The old man sneered at the account given to him, 
but one evening found him in the crowded vestry of 
the little church. He listened to sermon and to song 
with a scornful indifference, but when the meeting 
was opened for testimony he was alert to see "the fun." 
Almost the first to speak was little Willie, who, that 
he might be the better heard, stood upon the seat. 
In his clear treble, with a childish sweetness he said : 
" Friend, God smiles on me. Does He smile or frown 
on you?" and then sat down. The meeting went on 
the same apparently as before, but not the same in the 
heart of the shoemaker, for the wonders of the Lord 
were taking place there. " Does God smile or frown on 
you, friend?" It was the biggest question he had ever 
heard. He took out his pencil and wrote it down. 
Quickly at the close of the meeting he left the church, 
but not to pass a comfortable night in sleep. All night 
he turned and tossed with that question ringing in his 
ears, "Friend, does God smile or frown upon you?" 



MY WONDER BOOK 123 

Finally in the early morning light he sought the "A Little 
parsonage, and there in the little study he gave his Le * d Them" 
heart to the Lord. Arising from his knees, he grasped 
the minister's hand. "Friend, God smiles on me! 
Little Willie's question is answered." 

Within six months the infidel shoemaker began to 
study for the ministry. Afterward for many years he 
preached the wonders of the Lord. Is it not one of 
His wonders that "a little child shall lead them"? 

I have met some great men in my life, but one of the 
biggest of God's giants was Joseph Cook. 

It was my privilege one winter to hold with him 
a series of six weeks noon meetings in Tremont Temple. 
He would take charge one day, I the next. It was my 
day. I announced my text — "and suddenly there 
came from Heaven" — but got no further, for I was 
interrupted by the voice of an old lady in the rear of 
the house saying, " Brother Bates, is that in the Bible? " 

I said, "Yes, sister," and was about to proceed again, 
when the voice said, "Will you show it to me?" 

Not waiting for an answer, she slid through the seat 
and up the aisle, a dear little old lady holding a Bible 
up in her right hand. There was a stir all over the 
congregation. Joseph Cook leaned forward and said: 
"Be careful, Bates. The old lady is a little off." 
But by this time she was on the platform, handing me 
the Bible. I found her the text and read it aloud 
from her Bible. How her face shone! She turned to 
the great congregation and said: 

" I have found it at last ! That's it ! I am eighty-six 



124 MY WONDER BOOK 

"A Little years old. Eighty years ago in a little Maine village, 

Lead Them" ^ * ^ *^ e Banister I was converted. He said I 
was too young. They all said so. I wanted to join 
the church, but they said, 'No, wait until you know 
more!' I felt badly, but I waited. I have been wait- 
ing ever since. Eighty years! Oh, what I have lost! 
I will wait no longer, but today I will confess my faith 
in the Lord Jesus ! " 

Joseph Cook again leaned forward. "Bates," he 
whispered, " it isn't the old lady who is off ! It's Joseph 
Cook." 

Six months afterward I received a note from the 
pastor of the Harwich church informing me that the 
previous Sunday because of public confession of her 
faith in Tremont Temple, he had admitted Sister 
A to church membership in Harwich. 

One of my favorite texts is, "He which converted 
the sinner from the error of his way shall save a soul 
from death, and shall hide a multitude of sins," but 
I sometimes think we do not sufficiently emphasize the 
last clause. One little child at the age of eight placed 
safely in the arms of Jesus may prevent eighty years of 
sins. What greater work is given to man! Is it not 
Riley who says that 

"To find a little child 

And bring him to his own, 
Is a heap sight better 

Than reigning on a throne." ? 



"Is God Dead?" 



CHAPTER XV 
"Is God Dead?" 

WHEN I was a little boy living in East Saugus, I 
remember several times the awakening of 
a sleeping household at night by the appear- 
ance of some strange black man. Then I did not know 
what it all meant, but in after years I recalled, as- 
sociated with these midnight experiences, certain 
expressions, "underground railway," "fugitive slave 
law," and so forth, and they became full of deepest 
significance. 

How often William Lloyd Garrison and my father 
would get together, and talk far into the night. They 
were great friends, but would always differ on the 
church question. 

"Yes," said father, "it isn't what it ought to be, 
but don't down it, Mr. Garrison; the church of God is 
the best thing we have, after all." 

I was preaching in North Easton in 1860. I had 
come home weary from my church service, and soon 
the whole household had settled down to sleep. It was 
past midnight when I was awakened by a timid knock 
on the door. I found standing there, in a most pa- 
thetic condition, a runaway slave. Blood was in his 
miserable boots, and on his face was the wild, hunted 
expression of beast rather than of human being. 

127 



128 MY WONDER BOOK 

Exhausted from lack of food and rest, he crouched 
Dead?" down on the doorstep and uttered just two words, 
" Mercy! Massa!" Have you ever seen some poor 
stray dog, even as you extended a hand to pat him, 
crouch as if in fear of a deadly blow? If you have, 
you can get some idea of the pathos of that crouching 
negro on the parsonage doorstep ! I pulled him inside, 
and soon we had him resting and drinking coffee at 
the same time. As his strength was somewhat re- 
stored, he told us his story. He had been working in 
the rice-swamps, and evidently had had a genuine 
Legree for master. Poorly fed, poorly clad, he had 
stood all kinds of abuse until he had been forced to 
stand by and with his own eyes see his mother brutally 
beaten, because she had been unable to do her work. 
From the effects of that beating the old mother had 
died, and he that very night had escaped. For weeks 
he had hidden in the woods, almost retaken several 
times, but finally had reached the coast. In a miracu- 
lous way he had concealed himself on shipboard, and 
in spite of intense suffering had reached New Bedford 
safely. With great precaution he had succeeded in 
walking from New Bedford to North Easton, and had 
suffered so much that both his strength and heart had 
at last failed him. Even if he ran the risk of recap- 
ture, he must have food and rest before he could go 
a step farther. 

: "I can die, Massa, but never will I be a slave again I" 
A sudden gleam of fire came from those suffering eyes, 
and then died down again, leaving nothing but the 



MY WONDER BOOK 129 

ashes of resistance in its place, while in sullen despair 
I saw him sitting again with his head buried in his Dead?" 
hands. For four hours he rested, and then in the 
early morning hours he and I crept out of the little 
parsonage, and together we hurried towards the woods. 
Before the sun had risen very high in the heavens, I 
had the satisfaction of leaving my companion in the 
safe charge of one who would take him to Worcester 
and there make further arrangements for him to pro- 
ceed safely on his way to Canada, to freedom and to 
life itself! 

Years went by, and I often wondered what had been 
his fate, whether recaptured, or exhausted, he had 
died on the road, or whether it were possible for him 
to have actually escaped to Ganada. 

Twenty years afterward I was preaching at a camp 
meeting at Nobleboro, Maine. While preaching, my 
attention had been attracted to a noble-looking 
colored man, who seemed deeply interested in the 
sermon. At its close he came to me and said : 

" Do you remember the runaway slave that came to 
you at midnight in North Easton? I am that slave. 
I knew sometime I should have the chance of thanking 
you, but I thought it would be up in Heaven! Thank 
God, for the chance, this side!" 

On " this side " ! Doesn't God have precious wonders 
for His children. 

One of the saddest sights of my life was when I stood 
in front of the Old Court House in Boston, and saw 
Frederic Sims taken back into slavery. He had run 



130 MY WONDER BOOK 

away from his master, reached Boston, and was in a 
Dead?" fai* way to go on to the land of freedom, when his 
owner's son, who was attending Harvard College, met 
him on the corner, recognized him, and had him ar- 
rested. Public indignation was so great that the Court 
House had to be protected by chains. Theodore Parker 
said, "It can't be done! There isn't a judge in Boston 
mean enough to send that man back to slavery 1" 
But it was done! Down the street I saw them bring 
him. One poor, ignorant, hunted slave guarded by 
hundreds of police and soldiers! I can't bear even 
now to think of that picture ! 

Stirring old times in those days! Wonderful meetings 
and wonderful orators. Perhaps the most wonderful 
meeting I ever attended was in old Tremont Temple. 
It was in the troublesome war-times. Clouds were 
thickening, and there was no light! Governor Andrew 
presided at the meeting, and Frederick Douglass was the 
principal speaker. He was depressed. We all were. 
He spoke with difficulty, for it seemed almost as if the 
gloom of the country was enveloping him, and paralyz- 
ing his effort. The audience was silent, but it was the 
silence of inertia rather than that of appreciation. Not 
a cheer, not a response. He said, "I see no light; all 
looks lost," and then stopped a moment in a pause 
more eloquent than the greatest fluency. Amid the 
solemn hush, there came a voice, a tremulous voice, 
but powerful in its tremor, "Frederick! Frederick!" 
and the eyes of that vast audience were centered upon 
a poor colored woman, who in the upper balcony was 



MY WONDER BOOK 131 

standing with radiant face and uplifted hand. It was 
Sojourner Truth, that wonderful Miriam of the colored Dead?" 
race. " Frederick," she repeated, "is God dead?" 

Had a stroke of lightning entered that building, 
the effect could not have been more electrical. From 
heart to heart leaped the heavenly spark! "No, 
Sojourner, no! our God is not dead!" rang forth from 
the pulpit, and Frederick Douglass, inspired by an old 
colored mammy, spoke until the vast hall rang with 
cheers, and the hearts of all were uplifted in the thought 
that "our God is not dead!" 

Glorious truth! Lincoln knew it in his darkest 
hour. As we that then lived look back at the wonders 
on wonders by which the Lord has brought forth this 
country, do we, too, not feel like lifting our hearts in 
solemn thanksgiving to the ever-living God? 

It is a glorious truth and it has been the message of 
poets of all ages. 

Sojourner Truth tells us that "God is not dead!" 
" God is in His Heaven. All is right with the world," 
sings Browning, and one is a poor colored woman, 
and one is a Poet Laureate, but in God's sight are 
they not both His children with a God-given message 
for suffering humanity? 



My Degree 



CHAPTER XVI 
My Degree 

SINCE the days of Cotton Mather, our beloved 
city of Boston has always been an enigmatical 
problem to the theologians. It is not strange 
that this should be so, for she has had peculiar theo- 
logical grandmothers. Puritanism, High Churchism, 
Election, and Fore-ordination, Liberalism, Free Thought, 
and Evangelism are all in her family-tree, while her 
religious soil has proven specially conducive to the 
revival of Eastern cults and even to the manufacture 
of new ones. In all things she has ever been a very 
proper little city, but in spite of her propriety there 
have been times in her history when she has forgotten 
she was the Athens of America, when she had forgotten 
the dignity of her reputation, and has allowed her heart 
to be deeply moved by some great religious interest. 

One of the mightiest spiritual waves that ever 
touched Boston was the one produced by the ninety- 
day Tabernacle meetings held by Dwight L. Moody. 
What wonders were performed through the agency of 
that simple, upright, earnest man! A series of wonder 
books should be written on those meetings alone. 

I remember one night, just as Mr. Moody was about 
to preach, a. note was brought to him. He read it, 
paused a moment, and then handed it to me, saying, 

135 



136 MY WONDER BOOK 

"Please attend to this for me, I must go on with my 
Degree sermon." This is what I read, " A rich man is waiting 
for an interview with you in the ante-room. He is 
very anxious to see you at once." 

I no sooner finished reading the note than I hastened 
to the little room; at once I was greeted by a man 
somewhat past middle age, richly attired, but with 
one of the most heartbroken looking countenances I 
have ever seen. He was half-bending over the figure 
of a young man, whom, with the help of his coachman, 
he was doing his best to prevent from tumbling out of 
the chair. One glance at the young man's face told 
me he was in an intoxicated condition, and that his 
father had brought him there seeking help. What a 
sight he was, in a white beaver-coat, tall hat, gaudy 
necktie, and patent leather boots, lolling in that 
chair! 

Hardly waiting for me to introduce myself, the poor 
father said : " I have read in the papers that men are 
being saved in these meetings. I have heard that you 
take even drunkards and make men out of them. 
Oh, won't you save my boy? " he groaned. 

Poor father! "The Lord has saved many souls in 
these meetings," I said, "but everyone that has been 
saved has wanted to be saved. Even God cannot save 
a man against his own will. Does your boy want to be 
saved?" Turning to that poor wretch in the chair, I 
said, "My friend, are you willing to be saved?" 
|^"Naw," he answered, "I won't. This is the old 
man's work. I don't want to be saved, Mister. I 



MY WONDER BOOK 137 

won't be saved, I tell you, ' and with a stupid grin he 

sank back in his chair again. Degree 

"O Mr. Bates/' cried the father," can't you do 
anything for my boy? He is all I have. People call me 
rich, but I would give all I possess to save him. I will 
pay the debt on this Tabernacle, I will do anything, 
only help my boy." 

We talked and prayed, but the young man still 
insisted he didn't want to be saved. He had chosen, 
and it was one of the saddest moments of my life, when 
I saw the father and coachman carry him out to the 
carriage again, unsaved, " without God in the world." 
Some months afterward I heard that they both, father 
and son, were dead : one had died of delirium tremens, 
and one of a broken heart. Money cannot buy the 
wonders of the Lord. 

During the Tabernacle meetings I had many revela- 
tions of the greatness of Dwight L. Moody, but to me 
one of the finest of these was on a winter's night, when 
he and I, after a hard evening's work, left the inquiry 
room together and started for home. As we went 
along the street, conversing on Heavenly things, our 
attention was called to the figure of a young man stand- 
ing on the corner under a lamp-post. Neither of us 
had ever seen him before, but Mr. Moody went right 
up to him and stretching out his hand, said, "Good- 
evening, friend. Are you a Christian? " 

"No," stammered the amazed young man, "but I 
wish I was." 

Then followed such a scene as must have caused 



138 MY WONDER BOOK 

the angels to rejoice. After talking together a few 
Degree minutes, Moody began to pray; and above the voice of 
passing traffic, above the murmur of passers-by, I 
heard these words, "Father, we love Thee. Thou 
hast shown us such wonders. Now we ask Thee to show 
us another. Save this young man tonight. He is far 
from home, lonely, poor, trying to earn his way through 
school by waiting at one of these hotels. Teach him 
how to wait on Thee, Lord. Show him thy salvation 
just now, for Christ's sake. Amen." 

And the young man, with tears streaming down his 
face, had new light shining forth from his eyes, for 
that prayer was answered, and he had found Jesus. 

The dim light on the corner has given place to a 
brilliant electric light, but the old street corner is still 
there, and I never go by but what that scene comes 
before my eyes again, and, in spite of electric light 
and passing crowd, I feel I am on holy ground. 

It is a privilege just to be associated with a truly 
great man, and I loved to be with Moody. He was 
always so kind. Time and again he would ask me to 
assist him in some service, but always referred to me 
as Doctor Bates. Now, I had some education, but 
what I had was largely the result of what I myself 
had earned, and what God Himself had given me. No 
one will ever know how I had longed for a university 
course. I read and I studied. I worked days as hard 
as I could, and would study hours into the night, and 
then would go to sleep, praying still for an education. 
Working, praying, studying; not so bad a preparation 



MY WONDER BOOK 139 

for life, after all. I did all I could to get the education My 
of the schools, and then I left the rest to God. Do you Degree 
know, I am more and more convinced that the unreal- 
ized, cherished ambitions of everyone that loves the 
Lord are generally right down here more often given big 
compensation than we think? 

It is a great university of which the Lord is Dean, 
and no one is so poor but what he may enter it. 

There were celebrated scholars connected with 
Moody's work, and they were good men, too. One 
of them became very much irritated at Moody's con- 
stant reference to me as Doctor. Finally he could 
stand it no longer, and one day in the ante-room, 
just before we all went onto the platform, he turned 
to Moody and said, " Mr. Moody, I know Brother Bates 
will excuse me, but perhaps you do not know that he 
is not a Doctor of Divinity?" 

Moody gave one of his peculiarly sweet smiles and 
said : " He hasn't a degree yet? Well, I'll give him one, 
now. Remember, Dr. Bates, your first degree comes 
from Dwight L. Moody." 

Ten minutes later, in the crowded auditorium, I 
heard him say, "Will Dr. Bates now lead us in prayer?" 

A few months after, through the thoughtfulness of 
a Boston Methodist and the generosity of a university, 
the academic degree was conferred upon me. I ap- 
preciated it. I always shall, but I doubt if way down 
in my heart any university has the power to give 
a degree of which I could feel more proud than the 
one bestowed by Dwight L. Moody. 



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The Oak at Mamre as it is Today 



CHAPTER XVII 
Some of My Memory Gems 

MOST books contain some beautiful memory gems, 
and so does my Wonder Book. As a boy my 
teacher led me to learn many a memory gem 
that, if not duly appreciated at first, in after years 
became to me a choice possession in literature, but the 
memory gems I have in mind are not just that kind. 
They are a queer collection, as you would see if I could 
now set them before your eyes. My father's father 
began to collect some of them, and my father and I 
in turn have added to them. They have been brought 
from different countries and different climes, these 
poor inanimate objects that seem almost to speak 
with the eloquence of human tongues, for my memory 
gems are heart treasures. On the first page of their 
record I would show you three very ordinary-looking 
objects — an old rubber blanket, a rusty sword, and a 
cane made of oak. You might think that a dollar or two 
would buy the whole page, but it wouldn't — from me. 
I bought that rubber blanket a generation ago for 
two dollars and a half; it is almost as good today as 
then, — not much like the rubber we buy nowadays. 
Every time I look at that blanket it speaks to me of 
God's goodness, and of the way in which through 
commonplace things God reveals His wonders. 

143 



144 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of It was just after the war, and the Massachusetts 
e Gems regiments of nine thousand men were holding a muster 
at Nantasket. I was there as chaplain of the " Massa- 
chusetts Third." Every day just before sunset at 
dress parade we had prayers, but no especial interest 
was manifested by the soldiers. We chaplains would 
look at them drawn up in the hollow square, so fine in 
their appearance, so great in their possibilities, and we 
would long to do something to inspire them with the 
glory of the ideals of Christian soldiery; but appar- 
ently, while they treated us with all courtesy, they 
had no special use for clergymen in general, or for us 
in particular! 

Sickness broke out in camp on the fourth day, and 
one poor fellow became very ill with typhoid fever. He 
grew ill so rapidly that it was decided to send him 
home in a team; the soldiers started to move him, 
and I found to my dismay on nothing but a bare 
board! I at once did what anyone would have done 
under those conditions — I insisted on their placing the 
poor fellow on my mattress, and covering him with my 
blanket; and finally I saw them starting off slowly on 
the eight-mile drive to Hingham. 

That night it rained, and I passed the night really 
very comfortably in my little tent, well protected by 
that old rubber blanket, but in some way the men 
discovered I was sleeping in a puddle of water, with only 
the rubber blanket under me. It was nothing. Anyone 
would have done the same under the same conditions; 
but if you will believe it, God used so wonderfully 



MY WONDER BOOK 145 

that little fact that the next night after prayers Some of 
those soldiers urged me to preach, and I did preach Gems em01 " 
with a heart full of gratitude for the opportunity! 
In a few days the camp broke up, and I was quietly 
jogging down to the boat, when I heard, "Three cheers 
for the Gommander, General Butler." I joined in 
heartily. Again I heard, "Three cheers for Colonel 
Boyton!" I again assisted the chorus. And then 
came the shout, "Three cheers for the chaplain who 
slept on a rubber blanket, so a sick man could have 
his bed." I did not join in the chorus, but I think 
for once I really was overcome with modesty, as I 
bowed my head, and hugged the old blanket, but 
modesty was soon forgotten in a deep sense of gratitude. 
When a year later two men came to see me at the 
Concord Muster and said: "Mr. Bates, you didn't 
know it, but we wanted to tell you that the sermon you 
preached after your night on the rubber blanket a year 
ago was the means of changing our lives; that before 
that time we drank, and were wicked, but that sermon 
so stirred our hearts that we went to our homes re- 
solved to do nothing until we had found God; and 
praise His name! we did find Him!" — then I knew in 
my heart that Persian rug or cloth of gold could never 
become to me of equal value to my old rubber blanket! 



Have you ever been in the beautiful Harper's Ferry 
region? Have you ever stood on Jefferson's Rock, 
and gazed on those hills sun-kissed and cloud-crowned 



146 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of with Alpine glory, while in and out and all about them, 
My Memory y 0U see ^he winding Potomac binding them willing 
prisoners with shimmering silver chains? 

Have you ever stood on Jefferson's Rock, and 
listened to the story that those hills still tell of known 
acts of heroism, and the equally great deeds only seen 
and heard by them? Have you looked at Maryland 
Heights, and then letting your gaze rest for a moment 
nearer you on the quaint little town of Harper's Ferry, 
have you searched there until you found an insig- 
nificant-looking little building at which as you looked 
have you seemed to hear, as a faint murmur at first, 
but gradually an increasing chorus of river, and hills 
and rocks singing in unison: "Glory! glory! Halle- 
leujah! John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the 
grave, but his soul goes marching on!"? 
U If you have had this privilege, you will understand 
a little of the preciousness of his next memory gem; 
for this sword, old and rusty, was once used by John 
Brown himself, then by his son, from whose hands it 
was taken just before John Brown was captured in 
that little insignificant-looking building in 1858. 

A few years ago I was visiting a young Methodist 
minister stationed near Harper's Ferry, and in one of 
our walks we had the pleasure of visiting a gentleman 
whose home was just the other side of Maryland 
Heights. Among other trophies he showed us that 
sword. "Yes," he said, "that belonged to John 
Brown's son. My friend took it from his very hands, 
and afterward gave it to me ! " 



MY WONDER BOOK 147 

I tried to look appreciative and at the same time Some of 
without envy. I must have failed, however, in one ^ Memory 
direction at least, for some months after I had reached 
my home in New England, just on my birthday, an 
express package was handed to me, and in it was that 
sword with this note : 

"Dear Doctor: 

I send you the enclosed for a birthday card. I appreciated 
it myself, but believe you will appreciate it more. With best 
wishes, I am Your southern friend, 



I could devote a whole Wonder Book just to my 
memory gems on canes, alone. From a boy I have 
enjoyed collecting them, and many are the fine speci- 
mens that my friends have given me. I have a gold- 
headed cane. I think a great deal of that. I have 
several others that show exquisite carving. I think 
much of them all, but the cane I now would set be- 
fore you is neither of these. It is very ordinary in 
appearance, but I have good reason to believe it is made 
from the Oak of Mamre. It was given to me by a 
poor Arab in the Holy Land. In the East we had had 
peculiar experiences with our guides and dragomen all 
the way along, and of some of them it were difficult 
to rid ourselves. 

In Cairo we had been most unfortunate in that for 
two days we had been at the mercy of a dragoman, 
who cheated us, lied to us, disappointed us, and in 
every way had done his best to make us uncomfortable 
— and had succeeded. The hour had come to dismiss 



148 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of him. We had paid him considerably more than we 
Gems ^ad agreed upon, and with no tears in our eyes we pre- 
pared to say "good-bye." If you'll believe it, the 
fellow wouldn't go! We did our best to get rid of 
him but still he stayed, gesticulating wildly some 
hieroglyphics. Finally, the hotel-keeper pitied us and 
told us that the man wouldn't leave us without a 
recommendation. Everyone flatly refused to be his 
sponsor, and at last, after wasting several hours, I 
took out my church card and wrote upon it: 

"This is Mahomet Ali. He is just the kind of a 
dragoman you want, if you want this kind of a drago- 
man." I wrote in English, but I was a minister and so 
I insisted on fair play, and had the hotel-keeper read 
the recommendation to the native in his own language. 
To my astonishment he was delighted, bowed gravely, 
and departed, leaving us in peace. I don't doubt 
to this day but what that church card, with the sig- 
natures of ten clergymen duly affixed, is still one of his 
treasures ! Perhaps it is even one of his memory gems ! 
He was not the guide who gave me this cane. Our 
acquaintance with that guide was made in a very 
different manner. 

When traveling through the Holy Land, one morning 
about three o'clock I was disturbed by the cries and 
groans of one of our Arab guides. Hastening to the 
door of the tent, I discovered that for some negligence 
of duty he was being brutally beaten by the drago- 
man. I succeeded in bringing the punishment to a 
speedy end, although the dragoman sulkily told me 



MY WONDER BOOK 149 

that I was the one who might have been killed through ^ m j^ of 
the carelessness of the rascal, as it seems he was being Gems 
punished because he had not properly adjusted my 
saddle I From that moment the poor Arab whom I 
had saved from further beating became a veritable 
" Man Friday " to me. The next night I was disturbed 
several times by the sound of someone at my tent 
door. I told my dragoman in the morning about the 
disturbance of the night. He laughed, saying: "It 
was your Man Friday. He slept all night on the ground 
in front of your tent and would have killed anyone who 
tried to hurt you!" 

Now, it is claimed that all Americans are natural 
curio-seekers, and that this fact is specially true of 
Methodist ministers. In speaking for our party, I 
surely cannot deny the statement. A few days after 
this, in the course of our journeying, we had come 
through the little village of Mamre, and had looked 
with longing eyes for a specimen of its oak. Night 
was coming on, and soon our guides began to prepare 
for camping. 

I was tired, and the bed of the camp looked good to 
me. I had just settled down preparatory to a good 
night's sleep when my tent flap was cautiously pulled 
aside, and inthe starlight I saw "Man Friday." With 
an unusual lack of ceremony, he hurried to my bed, 
and pulling from behind him an oak branch, thrust it 
triumphantly into my arms. A little disappointed 
at my apparent lack of enthusiasm, he said, "Mamre, 
oak! I get it! Hide it, all want it!" 



Gems 



150 MY WONDER BOOK 

Some of Poor ignorant savage I He followed me to Haifa, 
My Me ^°^y and as we took our ship there, he actually begged me 
to take him home with me to America. He would 
eat so little, he said, that he would cost me hardly any- 
thing, and I myself had sufficient evidence that clothes 
need not be considered at all! I had his oaken branch 
carefully treasured in my trunk, but himself I had to 
leave behind on the heathen shore. 

When I got home I had that cane made from the 
branch, but I never look at it without a mingled 
feeling of pleasure and of sadness : pleasure, as it recalls 
the wonderful days in the country from which it came 
and the gratitude of a human heart; sorrow, as a 
vision comes to me of a poor ignorant heathen Arab, 
standing on the pier at Haifa, with pleading eyes. I 
still see him waving a farewell that in itself is an 
entreaty, while, slowly and cruelly, a ship sailed out 
on the waters away from him and leaving him alone. 



Old -Time Religion 



CHAPTER XVIII 
Old-Time Religion 

I HAVE been musing all day on the words of an 
old book, and these five stand out in wonderful 
distinctiveness," I have kept the faith." It was 
the swan song of a grand old hero of ages gone by, 
but is it not equally an inspiring clarion note of victory 
for God's children today? Amid the wrangling cries of 
creeds within, and the attacks of foes from without, 
how many times in my life have I found that my 
heart trembled for "The Faith," only afterwards to 
be re-established with greater confidence in the Lord. 

Early in my ministry I had the lesson impressed 
upon me that it did not make* so much difference as to 
the way in which this faith was kept, as to the fact 
that it was kept. 

I remember years ago one winter when I was preach- 
ing on Cape Cod, where religious "isms" in the little 
fishing village were more numerous than in Boston 
itself. There was but one church in the village, with 
a congregation made up from many different denomina- 
tions. Now, I noticed, in a period of strong religious 
interest, that the little church seemed to forget the 
diverse denominational character of her constituency, 
and Baptist, Methodist, Congregationalist, Episco- 
palian, Unitarian, and Presbyterian, and even Jew, and 

153 



154 MY WONDER BOOK 

Old-T Catholic, would be found side by side worshipping their 

Religion God, but when the religious and moral tone was low, 

the vacant seats in the little church told the story 

that their former occupants had forgotten they were 

"one in Christ Jesus." 

I felt troubled and prayed for a revival, but somehow 
the more I prayed the more it seemed to me that 
the spirit of disunion possessed that little community. 

If I called on Baptist Deacon A on a Friday night 

to lead in prayer, the next Friday, Gongregationalist 

Brother B would make himself conspicuous by 

being absent from the prayer service. 

Brother S , a Presbyterian, was our Sunday- 
School superintendent, and a good one. What was 
my dismay to have Mrs. Jones, the richest woman 
in the village, call on me one Saturday morning and 

tell me that, while Mr. S was its Sunday-School 

superintendent, her support no longer would be given 
to that church. 

She herself was an Episcopalian, and never would she 
send her boy to a Sunday School with a Presbyterian 
superintendent. In vain I expostulated. The whole 
village was rampant on the subject. The postmaster 
gloried in Baptist affiliations; his assistant was an 
Episcopalian. No Baptist in that town would re- 
ceive a letter from the assistant, no Episcopalian from 
the postmaster himself. 

Over some post-office windows I have read, from 
"A to L," and over others, "L to Z"; but no such 
division existed in our town. We were beyond all 



MY WONDER BOOK 155 

alphabetical distinctions. Greeds alone assigned us to 

certain windows for the delivery of mail. It was Religion 

ridiculous, if it had not been so wrong. I don't know 

what the result would have been to all religious life 

in that village, if God hadn't done what He always 

does at just the right moment — if God hadn't 

interfered. 

It was Saturday afternoon. I was in my study 
when into the room, breathless and hatless, ran Mrs. 
Jones. 

a O Parson, have you seen Johnnie? He has been 
gone three hours. Someone saw him going towards 
Mills Swamp, and I am so frightened." 

Johnnie was nine years old, the only darling of his 
father and mother, and one of those children beloved 
by a whole village. Mills Swamp contained a famous 
quicksand. No wonder Mrs. Jones was anxious. It 
was a dull November day, and night was hastening on. 
I hurriedly got my hat and went with that anxious 
mother. Five, six, seven o'clock came, but no sign 
of Johnnie. 

We rang the old church bell, and soon all the people 
of the village joined in our search. They organized 
squads to scour the woods. Before long their lanterns 
could be seen in every direction, hastening towards the 
dreaded quicksand. It was midnight when a glad shout 
told the weary searchers that the boy was found. 

Up to his waist, fast sinking in the dangerous bog, 

Deacon A , the Baptist, had found him. Brother 

B , the Congregationalist, had held the lantern, 



156 MY WONDER BOOK 

but it was the Presbyterian superintendent who, with 
Religion his own arms had pulled the little fellow up out of the 
perilous sands. As he placed him into his mother's 
arms, I peered around in the glimmering lights, and 
Episcopalian, Presbyterian, Baptist, Catholic, Metho- 
dist, Congregationalist, and even our one Jew neighbor 
were all there. And I tell you what, it was hard work 
to tell them apart when they were trying to save a 
fellow! I couldn't tell who had searched hardest, or 
who was gladdest, or who sang the loudest, as we all 
struck up, "Praise God from whom all blessings flow/' 

"Brethren," I said, "this union love-feast will be 
continued tomorrow morning at ten-thirty in our 
church." Do you know, I believe every blessed one 
of them was there! 

LongTago I came to the conclusion that when Paul 
said, * I have kept the faith," he was simply expressing 
the ideal of common human experience. So many 
creeds, so many shades of belief! Blessed is that man 
who can keep untarnished his childhood's faith. 

I had a dream not long ago. I know it is young men 
that should have dreams, and old men visions, but this 
was a dream. I thought I was in a huge factory 
which proved to be a Bible house, and I heard a voice 
say: "Let me show you the different Bibles, for we 
have many kinds. There is a personal one for everyone 
who comes into the world." 

Then from room to room I followed my guide and 
looked at Bible after Bible. At length my attention 



MY WONDER BOOK 157 

was called to a special one, and my guide said : "That 
is the Methodist Bible. It has good print and is very R e iigi™ e 
serviceable. We send them out six months on trial, 
and I am glad to say that most of them are kept perma- 
nently. There is just one trouble with them, though. 
Some of them have to often come back for rebinding 
and polishing." 

As we entered another room. " These, too, are 
good for real service," the voice continued, "and do 
fine missionary work. You notice they are printed 
on watered paper, and are water-proof. They are 
the Baptist Bibles." 

My attention was next called to some beautifully 
bound gilt edge volumes. "Yes, they are beautiful," 
said my companion. "They contain the same Gospel 
as the plainer-bound volumes, but to preserve their 
purity they have to be kept most carefully. They are 
the Episcopal Bibles." 

I then found that another room was devoted to the 
Presbyterian Bibles. I noticed that certain passages 
in their volumes were underlined with red ink, and 
quickly looking through them found these passages 
often contained the words "fore-ordained" and "elect." 

"Where are the Congregational Bibles?" I asked. 

"There is no special room for them, but Congre- 
gationalists use those from the other rooms as they 
see fit," was the answer. 

I was then shown into a room which seemingly held 
most beautiful books. I took up one, and what was 
my surprise to see it was only half of a Bible. 



158 MY WONDER BOOK 

Old-Time "Yes," said the guide. "That is the source of the 
Religion Jewish scriptures." 

I stood in silence at the revelations of that Bible 
house, as sect after sect and creed after creed was 
brought to my mind by the sight of the Bibles that 
represented them. 

"Do not look so disturbed," said my guide. 
" Remember all these Bibles belong to God's children. 
Your business, after all, is not to give all these Bibles 
one binding, one paper, one edition. Your business 
is simply to find your own, and then to help others 
find theirs." 

"Among so many, how dare I hope to find that one 
is really meant for me alone? How do I know I may 
not get the wrong one, after all?" I asked. 

"Dear child," was the answer, "your Father does 
not let His own make mistakes. You will find your 
own, for God Himself has written your name on its 
title page." 

I looked again, and there nearest to me was a 
familiar-looking little volume open to the first page, 
and there I read : 

"Blessed are they whose names are written in the 
Book of Life. My sheep are known of me, and I am 
known of them. Other sheep have I, which are not 
of this fold." 

Attached to my watch-chain is a little brass key, 
on which is an old-fashioned compass. I don't know 
how old it is, but an Englishman gave it to my father 



MY WONDER BOOK 159 

in 1802. To my knowledge, the little glass-covering j d . T . 
has never been opened, and through all the years the Religion 
compass has never got out of order, and its tiny needle 
has remained true. 

When, because of God's wonders in my life, I found 
myself making preparations for a journey to the Holy 
Land, one of the last things that some of our party 
of twelve did was to procure bright new up-to-date 
compasses. We were gone four months from home, 
and those compasses on sea or land, on mountain or 
in desert, were our close companions. 

We were on the Mediterranean headed for Alexan- 
dria, when a terrific storm swept our decks. The top 
of the foremast, struck by the lightning's fire, came 
shuddering down, and then the tempest almost as 
rapidly as it came, disappeared, leaving in its wake a 
shining sun. 

A few hours later I was standing beside the captain 
on the bridge. He was troubled, for his reckoning and 
compass did not agree. "I am sixty^miles out of my 
course," he said by the ship's compass. The one in 
the chart-room he consulted, and the one forward, but 
they all differed with one another as well as with the 
ship's reckoning. We ministers consulted our own 
bright shining ones, but no two agreed, and my little 
old-fashioned one, dangling from my watch-chain, 
seemed more wildly out of the way than any of them. 

Later in the day we were met by the pilot from 
Alexandria. The captain's first words were, " Let me see 
your compass." While they were consulting together, 



160 MY WONDER BOOK 

I went to the pilot and taking my little century-old 
Religion compass from my chain I placed it side by side with 
that of the pilot. And what do you think? That 
little thing pointed true! It was exactly like the big 
one. Untouched by storm or lightning, the old- 
fashioned one had been accurate all the time, as 
reliable in the storms of the Mediterranean as in the 
sunshine of Cape Cod. 

I had always loved the little compass, for it had 
always seemed to me emblematic of my father's faith; 
since that Mediterranean storm it has been even more 
precious. 

I see new faiths, new creeds arising every day; some 
of them seem most bright and attractive and big in 
promise. Some of them may indeed be compasses for 
some of God's children, but in the storms of life, I 
drop a loving glance down at my old-time little com- 
pass, still dangling from my watch-chain, and thank 
God that "the old-time religion is good enough for 
me." 



My Marriage Column 




My Marriage Column 



CHAPTER XIX 
My Marriage Column 

IN SPITE of Tolstoi's belief to the contrary, I 
have always had the feeling that there is no 
condition on earth quite so near to Heaven itself 
as a God-appointed marriage. 

In looking over my books today, I find I have been 
the human instrumentality in uniting the hands 
of more than fifteen hundred couples. I wonder in 
how many cases it proved equally a union of lives 
and hearts! What a responsibility! In some cases I 
have been able, more or less, through fife to follow the 
happiness of these brides and grooms, and the longer I 
live the more confident do I become that one of God's 
greatest wonders, designed to bless mankind, is the 
divine institution of marriage. Strange experiences 
are recorded in the marriage column of every minister. 

As a boy I used to love to hear my father tell of the 
marriage of Lorenzo Dow. 

Lorenzo Dow was one of the quaintest and most 
original characters of early Methodism. His piety and 
eccentricity were equally well known to us children. 
I remember of wondering with a boy's wonder if the 
Lord had appointed his second marriage. 

He had lost his first wife, and as the years went by, 
his brethren in the ministry did not know that he had 

163 



164 MY WONDER BOOK 

. M y any intention of marrying again, when one night about 
Column eleven o'clock the old village minister was awakened 
by a shout under his window. Cautiously pulling the 
blind aside, without waiting to even remove his night- 
cap, he peered out into the darkness and discovered an 
old wagon on the road, and a man and a woman stand- 
ing on the gravel walk under his window. 

"Say, Parson/' shouted the man, "I am Lorenzo 
Dow. We want to get married right now. The 
license is all straight, and all we want of you is to 
marry us up quick. Will you?" 

"All right!" cheerfully answered the minister, and 
jerked in from the window to suitably prepare for the 
ceremony, but was called back again by a voice, " Oh, 
we can't wait for a wedding-march and orange-blos- 
soms ! Marry us now from the window just as you are, 
or you can't do our job." 

Snatching from his head his nightcap with one hand, 
and extending the other in apostolic benediction, the old 
man proceeded with the service, and in a few minutes' 
time Mr. and Mrs. Lorenzo Dow mounted their chariot 
and together rode off into darkness, and into life. 

What strange fees have been paid in exchange for 
wedded happiness ! About nine o'clock one night, an old 
parsonage on the Gape was approached by a man and 
woman in a "One Horse Shay." Hearing the wheels, 
Father Bates went to the door to see coming up the 
walk a buxom lass of two hundred pounds or so, 
followed by a very little man. With a little giggle she 
announced, "We've come to get married, Parson. 



MY WONDER BOOK 165 

Haven't we, Bill?" The parson was duly surprised. My 
An energetic nudge of "Bill" succeeded in soliciting J5>]£mr 
the desired affirmation. 

The parson examined the license and proceeded to 
business. " Please join your right hands," he said. 
" Dearly beloved, you are gathered here for the purpose 
of holy matrimony. Do you — " but he was here inter- 
rupted by the bride: "Say, Parson, before you go 
any further, would you mind taking your pay in dried 
apples?" 

Being assured that "dried apples" was current coin 
with parsons, he was allowed to proceed. 

" Madam, do you — " but again he was interrupted. 
" Say, Parson, the apples are not ripe yet, but you shall 
have them without fail." He assured her that the 
bride's honesty was appreciated and proceeded with 
the ceremony without further interruption. 

Two months later a bushel of best dried apples was 
by the bride herself hauled to the parsonage door. 

" I don't know as he was worth it," she said, with a 
twinkle in her voice, " but a bargain is a bargain for all 
that." 

Surely at a christening, at a marriage, and at a 
burial service, a minister stands in peculiarly sacred 
relations to his people. Then, life is stripped of all 
superficialities and seems very real. 

There is a great difference between a christening and 
a marriage ceremony. One would think that with a 
clergyman of even ordinary intelligence, there was no 
special need of mixing these two experiences of life. 



166 MY WONDER BOOK 

. My Nevertheless, there was once a minister that not only did 

(folumn that very thing, but who, because of that fact, I am 

afraid, changed genuine friendship into lifelong enmity. 

Amanda was a lady of uncertain age, to whom this 
very truth was without doubt a great affliction. Al- 
though of estimable character, for some strange reason, 
to the knowledge of the village neighborhood, Amanda 
had never had an admirer. The village neighborhood 
generally knows. 

But better days were coming to Amanda. 

Abner, of certain age of twenty-four, became the 
hired man where Amanda of uncertain age (upwards 
of forty) was doing the honorable work of general 
housemaid. The inevitable happened. 

Soon the minister had the privilege of uniting 
" certain age " with " uncertain age " in the holy bonds 
of matrimony. So far all went well, but how the rest 
happened, I never quite knew. 

It seems the minister was weary, and at the close 
of a long evening of clerical work he said to himself, 
"I will just make out Abner's and Amanda's marriage 
certificate, and call the day's work done." 

Now side by side, in a certain drawer, rested the 
baptismal and the marriage certificates. He reached out 
his hand and took one. What right have printers and 
designers to make two such different documents so much 
alike? Was it any fault of his that in size, shape, and 
quality the certificates in both piles were alike? 

Wearily he took his pen, and almost mechanically 
filled in the items. Carefully he affixed the correct 



MY WONDER BOOK 



167 



date, age, parents' names, and so forth. Then he 
rolled up the certificate, slipped a rubber band around 
it, and sent it around the corner with his compliments 
to the bride. 

With a sigh of relief, and a good conscience, he soon 
retired to sleep the sleep of the just. 

But the next morning, before breakfast, without 
the ceremony of bell or knocker, into the parsonage 
kitchen walked an infuriated bride, and a sheepish- 
appearing bridegroom. 

At the minister's head was hurled the sacred certifi- 
cate, while Amanda, Amazonic in her righteous wrath, 
pointed at the innocent looking roll, attempted with 
choking voice to speak, and then, no longer Amazonic, 
suddenly burst into tears. 

" Why, Amanda, what is the matter? " queried the 
minister. 

But Amanda could not speak. She only sadly 
pointed at that offending roll of paper. 

With nervous foreboding, the minister seized it and 
unrolling it read with increasing horror, instead of the 
familiar marriage lines, this : 



My 

Marriage 

Column 



CERTIFICATE OF BAPTISM 

Mr, Abner S. MitcheU Child of Miss Amanda Whiting 
Born at China, Maine 

Was baptized in Chatham 
On the igth day of May in the year of our Lord 1848 

Lewis B , Pastor. 



168 MY WONDER BOOK 

Do you blame Amanda for not forgiving him? 
C^mn ^ u * m y "marriage column" is far from being 
merely a " funny column." 

In performing marriage ceremonies I have caught 
occasional glimpses of Heaven. 

Some years ago, the parsonage doorbell rang, and a 
young Scotchman introduced himself. 

"Ma lassie is comin' on the Cunarder the morn's 
forenoon," he said. "I would like if you would marry 
us at ten o'clock." 

" If you are here," I said, " at that hour, but perhaps 
the boat will be late." 

"I don't think it," he said. Assuring him it would 
be my good pleasure to perform the ceremony, I asked 
him how long it was since he had seen the girl. 

How his eyes lighted up, when I simply referred 
to her. 

" Seven long years have I wearied for her," he said. 
"We were lad and lass th'gether at hame, and a'day 
Jennie went up to town wi' me, and there we pairted. 
I came to this country to find work, and build a hame, 
and, sir, when Jennie bade me ' good-bye/ she said 
that some day she would come o'er and share it wi' 
me. I've been growin' fruit 'way out in Iowa, and 
God was wi' me, Dominie, and so I sent money to ma 
Jennie for her passage, and th' morn she'll be wi' me 
once more, the Lord willin'." 

There was a suspicious moisture in his eyes, and 
well, there was in mine, too. 

The next morning came, nine o'clock, ten o'clock, 



MY WONDER BOOK 169 

eleven o'clock, but no Scotchman appeared with a *Jy 
bonny bride. At twelve o'clock the bell rang, and Column 6 
the bridegroom appeared, but alone, to tell me that 
the boat was not yet in. " But, surely, she'll be here 
th' morn/' he said. 

And the next day she did come, and I never saw 
happiness more plainly written on two human faces, 
than on this Jacob and Rachel, as I pronounced them 
"man and wife." 

They were very quiet, only as they bade me " good- 
bye/' she said, "God is so good, Dominie." And the 
bridegroom looked at Jennie, and with a half-sob in his 
voice turned to me with, "Isna' it wonderfu', sir?" 
I gave a hearty " Amen. It is." For I know the word 
"wonderful" included the bride, God's goodness, life 
itself, and even the Yankee parson, all together. 



" I am Sorry for You" 



CHAPTER XX 
"I Am Sorry for You" 

J was walking in the street. A beggar stopped me, — a frail old 
man. His inflamed, tearful eyes, blue lips, rough rags, — oh, how 
horribly poverty had disfigured the unhappy creature! 

He stretched out his red, swollen hand. He groaned and whim- 
pered for alms. I felt in all my pockets — no purse, watch, or 
handkerchief did I find. I had left them all at home. 

The beggar waited. His outstretched hand twitched and trembled 
slightly. 

Embarrassed and confused, I seized his dirty hand and pressed it. 
11 Don* t be vexed with me, Brother; I have nothing with me, Brother." 

The beggar raised his bloodshot eyes to mine; his blue lips 
smiled, and he returned the pressure of my chilled fingers. 

"Never mind, Brother," stammered he; "thank you for this — 
this, too, was a gift, Brother. " — Ivan Tourgueneff. 

A PRISON is a strange place in which to see 
wonders, and yet I have seen many there. 
I had not been preaching long on one of my 
early appointments when it occurred to me that there 
was no chapel in our county jail; and, what was more 
lamentable, there had apparently never been any 
preaching there. Realizing that knowledge of a need 
was frequently a direct command from God to supply 
it, I went to the county commissioners and got per- 
mission to preach in the jail the following Sunday. 
I was delighted the ensuing week when told that one 

173 



174 MY WONDER BOOK 

"i So hardened old reprobate, who was in my audience and 

for You" who had in the course of his earthly pilgrimage visited 

jail after jail, said he liked the parson. Now, if I 

only had stopped there and in my eager vanity had not 

pressed further for information! 

"Why?" I asked. 

"Oh, he says he liked you because you didn't 'hurl 
the Prodigal Son' at him. He says he has been preached 
at in every first-class jail in New England, and you are 
the first parson that hasn't taken the opportunity to 
use that text on him as a living illustration." 

The answer was more forcible than pleasing, but I 
remembered the tale of woe of a neighboring minister 
and felt comforted. He, it seems, had been preaching 
at an insane asylum, and after the service an old lady 
had sidled up to him and said, "Oh, I enjoyed your 
sermon so much this morning. I really like you so 
much better than any other minister we have ever 
had." 

"Thank you," said the young man, and his face 
fairly beamed with gratitude. 

"Oh, yes," continued the sister in Israel, "I like 
you so much, because you seem so much like one 
of us." 

I preached in that little jail Sunday after Sunday; one 
day it came to pass that a new jail was to be built. 
So I appeared before the commissioners and begged 
them to supply the new one with a suitable chapel, 
for in the old one we had only a corridor to use for 
our services. At the same time I suggested to them 



MY WONDER BOOK 175 

that the Commission appoint a chaplain to the jail to M 

serve without pay for the ensuing year. It was really for^ou"* 7 

a great delight to me within a few weeks to discover 

both of my suggestions had been acted upon, and that 

I myself had been appointed the chaplain. From 

that day to this I have not ceased to be interested in 

prisons and prisoners. 

I was many miles from home, and almost at the end 
of a three-week series of wonderful meetings. It was 
Saturday night, and two women presented themselves 
at my lodgings as a committee from the Woman's 
Christian Temperance Union to ask me to hold a ser- 
vice in the Federal Prison the next day. I hesitated. 
The next day was to be my last in town. I had 
already planned for five services, and I was weary, 
soul and body. But while I hesitated, one of the ladies 
said, "We know it is asking a good deal, but even 
these prisoners have heard about the wonderful meet- 
ings you have held, and they, too, need you." That 
was enough. I promised to go. The next day it 
rained, and rained hard. At our little hotel the people 
laughingly said, "You needn't get ready today, Dr. 
Bates. Those women will surely not come out in this 
storm." But they did come and just at the appointed 
time, two heroic little figures dripping with rain. 
"We can hardly afford a carriage," they said, "do 
you mind the rain? " I assured them I was very 
fond of a rainy day, and out we started for a half a 
mile's walk. In single file we went, and I began to 
wonder if it was a Methodist minister's duty to like 



176 MY WONDER BOOK 

t<1 am So floods as well as rains, when at length we arrived in 
for You" front of the prison. 

We soon found ourselves in a long corridor. Back 
of us three iron doors had been bolted; in front of us, 
and locked in together with us, were one hundred and 
seventy criminals — one hundred and seventy human 
beings, one hundred and seventy immortal souls. 
Two sick men were wheeled out of cells on their beds. 
It was an inspiring, heart-aching sight. I did not 
preach about the Prodigal, but I did try to talk about 
Him who had once said, " Come unto me, ye that labor 
and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest." God 
was with me, for as I talked I saw more than one eye 
glistening with tears of repentance. At the close of 
my remarks, I looked at them, these my brethren, and 
my heart yearned to help them. I looked at them. 
With the exception of the sick men, they all had been 
standing and for nearly an hour. 

" Brothers," I said, " God, your Father, today loves 
you and wants you to seek Him. Won't all of you 
who will try to seek Him and become better men now 
raise your hands?" 

"Stranger," interrupted a voice from one of the 
roughest looking of them all. "Stranger, God's 
spirit called me long ago. I refused Him. He called 
again and again, and I paid no attention to Him. And 
now I'm in trouble, don't you think it looks mean to 
dodge now and ask Him to help me?" 

"My friend," I answered, "it looks meaner to still 
refuse Him." 



MY WONDER BOOK 177 

I think he did not even hear my words, but I knew <„ 
God was talking to him, for before I had hardly fin* for You" 
ished my sentence, he shouted, "HI do it! Fll do it!" 
By this time every hand in the room was raised, and we 
all knelt. I believe we all prayed, and I believe that 
in more than one heart that night God showed His 
wonders of sins forgiven, and peace. What a God we 
serve, who can make of prison-walls a cathedral! 

At one time, nearer home, the prison chaplain was ill, 
and I was asked to visit one of the prisoners who had 
been suddenly attacked by disease. I visited him 
and then asked permission to visit a man in the next 
ward. I was told I could do as I liked, but I had 
better leave him alone, for he was a noted desperado. 
I went to his bed. " Brother," I said, but I could get 
no further, for he shouted, " You He, I have no brother ! " 

I tried to talk for a few moments, but got not even 
a sullen response. I left him. That night I was talking 
with a little girl, and I told her about the poor unhappy 
man in prison. Unbeknown to me, r she slipped down 
the street, and emptying her tiny purse, bought two 
oranges. Coming home she got a glass of jelly from 
her mother. The next morning, when I was putting 
on my coat, she slyly came to me and slipping a little 
parcel in my hand said, "Papa, will you please take 
that to the poor unhappy man?" I took it. As I 
approached his bed, I waited. There was no answering 
smile to my greeting. "I have a note," I said, "from 
a little girl, and she sent you these oranges and jelly." 
"No matter about the d d note," he said. "Give 



178 MY WONDER BOOK 

me the oranges. My throat is parched." I gave them 
for You" to him and then remained silent until evidently with 
delight he ate them both. He looked at me a moment. 
"You told her to do it," he said suspiciously. "No, 
I didn't," I replied, "and I didn't even know she 
had written the note until I opened the package." 
"Umph," he grunted. I waited. "Aren't you going 
to hand over that note?" he said. Gladly I handed it 
to him, and he read it. "Dear poor man," it said, 
"I am sorry for you. God loves you. Your little 
friend." 

He was a long time reading that tiny note, and I 
waited. Finally, be raised his head, and I knew he 
could not see me with his eyes just then. "If that is 
true," he said, "if God does love me, I will be a different 
man." 

Years went by, and he was a different man. What 
connection the oranges, the jelly and the note had 
with this wonder, I don't know. I only know the 
biggest message Divinity ever spoke to humanity, a 
message too great for even angels to give, was given 
that night by a little girl — "I am sorry for you, dear 
poor man. God loves you." 



Bethel 




g 

8 
p 

H 
Q 

O 

o 

O 

H 



CHAPTER XXI 
Bethel 

Surely the Lord is in this place — this is none other but the house 
of God, and this is the gate of heaven. And he called the name of 
that place "Bethel." — From an old book. 

NOW IT came to pass as the years went by, through 
God's goodness we found ourselves at the ex- 
piration of a delightful three-years' pastorate 
at St. John's Church, South Boston, awaiting advance 
orders. Two paths were already open before us, and 
they both meant advance in salary, and influential 
city parishes; but while deliberating between these two, 
one night three men came to see us. They were from 
a little church on a corner of an island near by, they 
said, and had come to urge me to be their pastor the 
following year. Their only plea was this, "A little 
church, run down and poor. We never have paid even 
two-thirds of your present salary; but we need you, 
and will give you your living, even if we have to sell the 
shirts from our backs to do it." 

I was needed, and in my heart I knew at once that 
this third call was God's call. As I thought of the 
island's need revealed by these men, and was told that 
the population included an element of sea-faring 
people, I remembered also one whom I had loved. 

181 



182 



MY WONDER BOOK 



Bethel 



He had been a sea-faring boy, who had gone down in 
the deep waters, and I thanked God He had counted 
me worthy^to labor among such people. 

How the first night of a minister's new pastorate is 
a test to his very soul. I went into the little vestry 
and found only about fifty people there; but it has been 
one of God's own wonders that I have lived to see in 
that same church ten hundred at a regular Sunday 
night service. 

After several years of delightful work orders came 
to enlarge our walls. With a glorious rededicatory 
service, new and old fines of Christian work were 
opened for the little church on the corner. 

At the junction of five streets it stands. Within its 
hearing are the jargons and dialects of many nations. 
Beyond it, in one direction, is a thickly settled popula- 
tion of twenty thousand people, containing no Protes- 
tant church. By its doors have trodden sailors from all 
countries, and within its portals many have stopped 
to rest awhile, and in consequence have found it to be 
veritably one of God's own waiting-rooms on earth, 
where He has revealed His wonders to their hearts. 
The little church on the corner, 

In the heart of the city it stands, so plain and unadorned. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside it. 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, thousands of aching brains, 
Thousands of toiling hands, thousands of weary feet. 



A bigger, more blessed field was never given to man in 
which to labor. 



MY WONDER BOOK 183 

Twenty-four years I have been blessed in its ministry, 
and I believe I love the very bricks in its walls. What Bethel 
a work its membership has done on sea and land! 
During that time nearly ten thousand books and 
papers have been distributed among sailors alone. 
Four mission-boats in turn have left the wharf on 
Sunday mornings to visit the shipping in the harbor. 
On hills of this and other countries its sons and daugh- 
ters are preaching the Gospel today. Babes that I 
christened at its altars are, today, superintendents of 
Sunday Schools in large cities, and there are choir- 
masters, who it seems but yesterday were singing in 
our infant classes. 

There was one who came among us, a humble little 
girl in our Sunday School, who, finding there the won- 
ders of the Lord, went forth from our Bethel to Africa 
to tell others of His goodness. 

If you and I, today, should go to the western coast 
of Africa, we could find her grave. That is not all 
we should find; for there, right at the battle-line be- 
tween heathenism and Christianity, we should find a 
little chapel still telling her message to surrounding 
heathen. 

Our loved Bishop Mallalieu once told me that when 
in Calcutta he had gone to a Sailors' Mission. He found 
it doing a great work, he said, and what interested him 
most was that when the preacher heard he was from 
America, the first question he had asked was, "Have 
you ever been to the East Boston Bethel? " He then 
went on to tell him : " I, Italian, wicked sailor. I went 



Bethel 



184 MY WONDER BOOK 

to Boston, East Boston Bethel, and found the wonders 
of the Lord there, and since then I preach them to all 
sailors." 

We had not even remembered Mm, a stray sailor that 
perhaps had come in some evening to get warm, but 
the Lord Jesus had remembered him, for as he went out 
from our midst that night He, Himself, had gone with 
him and had never left him during all the years. 

There came a day during my ministry to this people 
when they said to me : " Come, you need a rest. Go 
across the water and see those places about which you 
dreamed as a boy. Visit those lands most sacred to 
every minister of the Gospel, and come again and tell 
us, that we may know of them, too." 

So it came about that I, a poor Methodist minister, 
was given the great privilege of a journey to far-off 
countries. It was on this trip that perhaps for the 
first time I began to appreciate the extent of the 
work actual and possible to the little church on the 
corner. As we touched port after port I would find 
some book, some paper stamped, " East Boston Bethel," 
or I would find some sailor who would welcome me 
because some time in his life he had met me at our 
Bethel. 

It was on a Sunday morning, and we were slowly 
steaming into the harbor of Smyrna. Glad to get on 
land again we started at once for our hotel, but on our 
way passed a Sailors' Mission close to the long pier. 
The temptation was too great. I retraced my steps 
and entered. Taking up a book from the table, I 



MY WONDER BOOK 185 

read, "L. B. Bates, East Boston Bethel." The sight 
of that word "Bethel" was like the gleam of the 
"Stars and Stripes" to a homesick soldier. After 
finding several books and papers stamped in the same 
way, I left a Bethel card and went on to join the rest 
of the party. We had hardly reached our destination 
when I heard a man rushing up the steps behind me 
calling, "Is there an American here by the name of 
Bates?" 

I turned around. The first thing I knew I was 
seized by a man larger than myself and actually hugged 
in the presence of the astonished hotel proprietor. 
When, by glancing at the man's face, I had assured 
myself there was no attempt at assault and battery, 
I found out that he, too, was from America and that 
his name was "Jones." This did not give me any 
special enlightenment, but then he said : 

"Don't you remember a drunken sailor that drifted 
into the East Boston Bethel one Monday night while 
you were holding special meetings? You shook hands 
with him, and asked him to go forward to the altar 
for prayer. He had just sense enough left to know he 
was drunk and wicked. He told you so. But you 
said Christ Jesus had come into the world to save 
wicked men, and there was something about the way 
you took his hand that made him want to be different. 
He went forward to the altar. The next night he 
came again, and the next, and on Thursday night he 
found the wonders of the Lord. Friday morning he 
sailed on one of the Cunarders out across the ocean. 



Bethel 



186 MY WONDER BOOK 

B h . "I have never since visited America, but I'd rather 
see the East Boston Bethel once again before I die 
than to see the Rocky Mountains, Niagara Falls, and 
Washington, all thrown in together." 

Did I remember, then? I rather think I did, and I 
thanked Him who had done the mighty thing. 

My friend Jones then went on to tell me that when 
he had reached Liverpool he went at once to some 
Sailors 7 Mission. The sister of the Bishop of Liverpool 
was its chief patron, and she becoming interested in 
him urged him to preach. He tried to, and succeeded 
so well that eventually she asked him to take charge 
of a Sailors' Mission in Smyrna, and there he had 
been ever since. 

That evening was one of the "Wonder" times of 
my life. At his request I preached for him to a motley 
gathering of sinners. I gave one sentence in English, 
and four interpreters in turn repeated it in French, 
Italian, German, and Arabic. 

I talked for an hour to one of the most attentive 
congregations I have ever seen, about the " Christ 
who had come into the world to save sinners," and 
then turning to my friend, I said, " If I were at home, 
I should now urge these people to seek this Christ." 

" That's just what we want," was the response, and 
solemnly the five-fold invitation was given. Eleven 
men came forward to the little mission altar to seek 
our God. I bowed my head in thankfulness. I knew 
that, next to God Himself, it was the Bethel touch that 
had done this miracle. In five languages the Gospel 



MY WONDER BOOK 187 

message was given that day, typical indeed of the 
work that constantly is being put forth from the little 
church on the five corners. 

Mighty men of the Lord have visited this church, 
and given their message from its pulpit. One day it 
chanced that George Miiller was our guest. That 
morning Heaven had seemed very near, as he in simple 
words had told us of his Father's love. Our hearts 
felt the hush as if an angel had visited us. 

He came to the parsonage for lunch, and afterward 
asked to be alone for a moment. From the next 
room I heard him pray, as I never have heard mortal 
pray before or since. 

"O Father," he said, "give my boys their dinner 
today. Take care of them. Don't let them lack for any 
good thing. I thank Thee for my good dinner, today, 
Father. Thou art always so good to me, but I cannot 
be happy unless I know my boys are not hungry." 

In a few minutes he came to us, his face shining. 
"It is all right," he said, "I know my boys over in 
Germany have had a good dinner today. I have the 
answer." A mighty man of God was Muller. Sixty 
thousand boys he had clothed, given homes, and fed 
through answers to prayer alone. 

Others of God's great men have spoken within the 
Bethel walls, and long ago were its aisles consecrated 
by the feet of those saints who no more walk the paths 
of earth. Now every Sunday as I look down into the 
loving faces of my congregations, it seems almost 
as if I were actually gazing, too, 



Bethel 



188 MY WONDER BOOK 

"Into those angel faces 
Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile." 

So it came to pass that Louisa and I for fifty years 
had walked hand in hand from church to church, from 
parish to parish. Each year has but added to us 
instances of God's wonders. Is it any wonder that 
when in this, the Bethel of our lives, the people unitedly 
looked upon our Golden Wedding as their own Church 
Jubilee, that we felt our lines indeed had fallen into 
pleasant places and that this church, the child of our 
old age, has become a veritable Bethel, a House of 
God to our souls? 

The problem of the down-town city church is be- 
fore us. During our pastorate five Protestant churches 
have been obliged to move away from the center up 
onto the hill, — and yet the wonders of our God have 
not yet ceased at the old Bethel, for one bright morn- 
ing not many weeks ago it was my privilege at its 
sacred altars to receive one hundred and nineteen new 
members. Twenty-four years of service, faulty and 
imperfect, but always sincere and earnest, have we 
labored among this people, and the little church still 
stands on the corner. 

In the heart of the city it stands, so plain and unadorned. 
Daily the tides of life go ebbing and flowing beside it. 
Thousands of throbbing hearts, thousands of aching brains, 
Thousands of toiling hands, thousands of weary feet. 

As to the future, in our moments of anxiety we are 
comforted, for we remember that God rules, and God 
loves our Bethel — the little church on the corner. 



"In His Name" 



CHAPTER XXII 

"In His Name" 

AS I interpret my Gospel commission I was sent 
/\ to preach to all creatures, and I never yet 
have had the opportunity to preach any time, 
or anywhere but what I have accepted it and tried 
to do my best. I wish, I wish from the depths of my 
soul, there were a deeper harmony among God 's people, 
but somehow my faith is triumphant that there will be 
sometime, and meanwhile I am going to try to be con- 
tent, even if at present we are all divided into differ- 
ent church families. After all, the vital differences are 
really getting fewer and fewer. 

When I went across the ocean a few years ago, it 
didn't disturb me in the least that everyone who went 
to England didn't go in the boat I chose, or even didn't 
go on my line. The main point was to arrive safely in 
port. And so, as I think of the different great church 
lines that run between earth and Heaven, what differ- 
ence does it make if my Baptist brother does prefer a 
submarine boat in which to make the voyage? I am 
perfectly willing and shall love him just the same! 
It may be, after all, that the good Lord will never give 
me, myself, any special credit for being in the ship of 
Methodism! Many is the time I have had such a 
liking for any kind of a craft on which sail God's 

191 



192 MY WONDER BOOK 

,„ „. children that I have felt like making a raft of them 
In liis 
Name" a ^ an d joining them together to sail to Zion! 

What is more fascinating than to stand on some 
seaside hill and watch the ships sail out of harbor, un- 
til, lost to sight, they sink beyond the distant horizon! 
As they vary in size, in rigging, in appearance, even so, 
it seems to me, do God's churches. 

I never see a beautiful, full-rigged ship on a sum- 
mer's day, sailing along so calmly and so quietly, but 
what I think of the dear old Quaker church. Some 
wonderful Quakers have I known. On life's voyage 
charmingly have they sailed, calmly, with dignity; 
and with unspotted tarpaulins, and with muffled oars, 
and padded machinery. 

Many times in my life have I hailed most pleasantly the 
"Quaker" ships, but perhaps with most pleasure do I 
look back on speaking with them in New Bedford. It 
was after the Lord had had a great revival there. At 
that time there were living close by me two Quaker 
brothers. When they found out that, according to 
our itinerant system, I must move on in April, they 
came one morning to visit me. How kind they were! 
In drab precision, they sat in the little parsonage par- 
lor, and clasped their hands over their broad-rimmed 
hats. Finally they were moved to speak. 

"Thou must not leave New Bedford. The Lord is 
with thee. Stay and preach the Word unto us. We 
will build thee a home, and give thee two times thy 
present salary for thy week's work, only thou must 
do the preaching for nothing!'' 



MY WONDER BOOK 193 

I smiled. "I am never paid for preaching/' I said. 
" My salary has always been for work done in between ! " Name" 
Their faces fairly beamed with appreciation. 

"Thou art right! Be our minister, and we will see 
more wonders of the Lord ! " 

I was deeply touched. I thanked them, but as I 
sailed into another parish in a few weeks' time, the 
name on my boat was still " Methodist." 

There have been times when easily I could have 
embarked on the Congregationalist ship. True, they 
like to sail as they please on the ocean of church- 
polity, and each little church feels competent to steer 
itself, while personally I prefer boats that sail in fleets; 
but at one time city missionary work under the Congre- 
gationalists seemed to me almost a call from the Lord. 
I paused and thought a while, but when I coaled up 
and sailed out of harbor again, the name on my ship 
was still " Methodist." 

No one who has taken a long voyage at sea will 
fail to realize how much one's confidence in any ship 
depends on the personality of its commander. Is it not 
equally true that our opinion of any church denom- 
ination is more largely influenced by the character of 
its commanders than by its creed? 

When I met Warren H. Cudworth, I became a bigger 
and better man, for I realized through him and other 
Christ-like Unitarians that many of them loved my 
Lord, even as I did. It was a privilege to preach 
from his pulpit, and be a Methodist still. 

Phillips Brooks was another of the great church- 



194 MY WONDER BOOK 

commanders with whom it was my privilege, many a 
Name" ti me > to be associated in Christian work. I have read 
of heart-warming incidents in the life of this wonderful 
man, but there is one that has special interest for me. 
The night before he died, a poor wretched fellow, a 
tramp, called at Mr. Brooks's house and asked for help. 
He said he was hungry and penniless, and in some way 
his appeal reached the sick man. Weak and ex- 
hausted as he was, with trembling hands, this Christ- 
like man wrote a card to a friend, asking him to sup- 
ply the poor tramp's wants, until the writer himself 
was able to look out for him. It was a little card, with 
wavering letters, but it is one of my heart's treasures 
today; and it matters what name is printed on the 
ship in which Phillips Brooks sailed to Heaven, I 
shall always honor it because of him. 

The Episcopal ship! Who doesn't admire a white 
squadron in holiday array! How fascinating the 
drill-work! How beautiful the service of its Prayer- 
Book! In this day of democracy are we in any danger 
of thinking a poor man better than a rich man? May 
we not make a similar mistake in thinking a ritual 
service is necessarily not spiritual? I love the Episco- 
palians, but I am still a Methodist. 

I am still a Methodist, but it was a great joy to me 
to preach the Gospel in the First Church of Christian 
Scientists in Boston, and, do you know, I think the 
time is coming when I shall be asked to speak in 
the Catholic Church? I give warning, if that time 
ever comes, I shall accept the invitation! When a 



MY WONDER BOOK 195 

big-souled man, like Father O'Donnell, can walk side 
by side with a Methodist preacher in the streets of the Nam*" 
city, and be as kind and Christ-like as he has been, the 
the time cannot be far distant when Christ's prayer 
must be answered, " that they be one in Christ Jesus ! " 
Among the many joys of a golden wedding, a silver 
loving-cup with the name upon it of " Hugh O'Donnell" 
shines bright in memory's list of treasures. 

The longer I live the more I am convinced that the 
world's great hungering cry is for more of love and 
less of creed. 

There was once a king who wished to encourage the 
ship industry in his kingdom, and so offered a prize 
for the finest ship. He gave a great festival at the 
mouth of a river, and on a certain day all the com- 
peting ships were to sail by. The banks of the river 
were crowded with spectators, who were anxious to 
see the winner of the prize. Early in the morning 
the contestants began to arrive — big ships, little ships, 
handsome ships, swift ships, and ships of all kinds. 

The largest one said, " Surely, I shall get the prize on 
account of my size!" But the king let the largest ship 
sail by. Soon, a beautiful ship came in sight, but the 
king let the beautiful ship sail by. Now came a ship 
that by its speed had won many a silver cup, but the 
king let the swift boat go by. Next appeared the 
"Mayflower." "Without doubt on account of age, 
that will get the prize!" thought the people. But the 
king let the " Mayflower" sail by. The submarine came 
hopefully along, but the king let the submarine go by. 



196 MY WONDER BOOK 

An airship was next in line. The people shouted! 
Name" "Surely* so up-to-date a craft must be just the one for 
which the king had been waiting !" But, no, the king 
shook his head, and let the airship^ disappear. Now, 
all this time, I had been most interested in the name 
that appeared on the stern of each boat, for it did not 
take me long to discover that each; in turn represented 
the name of some church denomination. 

It was almost dusk, and the prize was not yet 
awarded, when just in sight came puffing and smoking 
a dirty little tugboat! She had had no intention of 
entering the list, but had been out all night, rescuing a 
shipwrecked schooner, which she was now towing 
safely back to her home. 

What a laugh the crowd set up as they saw the poor 
little boat, but the king looked at her, stopped her, as 
she humbly would have hurried by, and then said, 
" I give the prize not to the great one, nor to the hand- 
some one; neither do I give it to the one with a record 
for speed, nor to one of ancient fame, but to you, oh 
little tugboat, I give it, for helping another!" 

Amid the cheers of the crowd I tried to decipher the 
name on the tugboat. "Methodist, sure," I thought, 
but as I got a better view, what do you suppose I saw? 
There was the name of some church denomination 
underneath, I think, but the letters were so tiny that 
no one could make them out, while in bold belief, 
shining in letters of gold upon her stern, I read these 
words, "In His Name!" And I, I am a Methodist 
still, but I sometimes think that perhaps if I but 



MY WONDER BOOK 197 

each day will try to love a little more, I, too, can 
reduce the size of the letters, so that when my little K am e» 
bark shall appear before the King He shall find written, 
even above the precious word, "Methodist/ 7 other 
words, and they, too, shall be, " In His Name ! " 



Revelations 




11 That 'where I am ye may be also" — John 14: 3 

"And may there be no sadness of farewell, when I 

embark; 
For, though from out our bourne of time and place, the 

flood may bear me far, 
I hope to see my Pilot face to face, when I have crossed 

the bar." 



CHAPTER XXIII 
Revelations 

FATHER BATES used to refuse to sing, "On 
Jordan's stormy banks I stand," but all through 
his life from his very heart would shout, "On 
Jordan's sunny banks. I stand." 

Today, I am seventy-nine years young, and I am 
sitting in the sunshine of God's Wonderland, and yet, 
not sitting exactly, for I preached three times yester- 
day, and I have preached three times every Sunday 
this summer. I suppose it would be glorious to just 
sit around awhile down here and see the Lord work 
His wonders, but somehow it seems much more glorious 
to still be able to take hold and work with the Lord, 
and of one thing I am most sure, when I do stand on 
the banks of Jordan's stream, it, too, will be as gloriously 
flecked with God's sunshine as is the Annisquam that 
today is rippling gently below my cottage-door. 

In these days how precious is God's Word to me! 
Grand old Wonder Book, typical of every life that has 
been placed upon this earth. From Genesis to Revela- 
tion, what a wonderful analogy! We all have our 
Genesis, and then how soon from the home nest comes 
the Exodus. To every itinerant minister how often 
has come to his heart the fullest meaning of the word 
Exodus ! 

201 



Revelations 



202 MY WONDER BOOK 

Then how we all have our Lamentations, our 
sorrows, our disappointments, the parting from those 
dearer than life itself, and yet how much time we all 
lose by staying so long in the Land of Lamentations, 
when the clearer air and broader view of Psalms is 
awaiting us! 

What joyous days to us are those when the great 
wonder of life comes to our hearts, leading us to hear 
with a strange thrill of joy the inspiration of Solomon's 
Song. Through Law and Prophet we wander with a 
sweet consciousness that the Highlands of God's love 
are yet beyond. 

Then the glorious views of God 's love that come to 
us as we turn over the Gospel chapters, and transmute 
them into actual happy acts in living. 

Next comes the Epistolary stage, when a true follower 
of the Lord Jesus Ghrist is read and known of all men. 

Surely there is not one of the sixty-six books of the 
Bible which fails to find touches in my own life. 

Sometimes God's wonders so possess my spirit that 
I feel that I, too, am even on the Isle of Patmos in the 
book of Revelations. 

The secret of the Lord is with them that fear Him, 
and on every page of my life, I find written some of 
His secrets that tell of His great love. What more 
remains to be revealed? 

I know that Heaven is very real to this old heart of 
mine, and I sometimes wonder what it will mean to be 
there. I think of John and of his message, and realize 
that after all, it is simply a revelation of more love. 



MY WONDER BOOK 203 

It will be because of His love that we shall have our 
dear ones again, and know them as of course we shall. 
Whenever I hear the question asked as to recognition of 
loved ones in our Heavenly home, I think of the old 
Scotch dominie, whose wife was always grieving for 
fear she would not know her husband in Heaven. At 
length, after vainly trying to comfort her, one day he 
said with a twinkle in his eye, " Mary, bairn, you'll na 
be a bigger fool in Heaven than down here, na know 
any less ! " 

What must it be to be there ! To recover your lost 
ambitions, and hopes, and desires, and to have the 
power of realization at last, for it is promised that 
"we," we, ourselves, "shall be satisfied." 

It was one cold night in January, and I was called 
to an attic chamber on Bremen Street. In it a little 
girl of sixteen lay dying. I had called on her frequently 
the last few weeks, and I knew how Lizzie had been 
starved in this life, not for bread, perhaps, but for the 
realization of all the ambition that should gladden a 
young girl's life. Poor and sick as she was, with a 
drunken father, I could not pray for her to live. I 
placed my hand on her pale forehead. 

"Lizzie," I said, "is it all right?" 

"I am afraid," she whispered, and then I tried to tell 
her what Heaven would mean to her. 

" You'll have everything you want, there ! " I finally 
said. 

"Everything?" she gasped. 

"Everything," I replied. 



Revelations 



Revelations 



204 MY WONDER BOOK 

"Say, minister," she whispered, "Will I, will I have 
a piano there? You don't mean that, do you?" 

As I looked at those beseeching eyes I remembered 
the strange love this little waif had for music, and how 
sweetly she herself could sing, and I hesitated but for 
a moment. 

"Yes, Lizzie/' I said, "if you need a piano in Heaven 
to make you happy, you'll surely have it." I shall 
never forget the look of peace that settled over her 
dying face. 

It was years ago that Lizzie died, but that scene 
has comforted my own heart many a time. One of 
my own beautiful Revelations has been that Heaven 
will contain a grand piano even for me, if my happiness 
is incomplete without! 

But somehow, I think I used to be concerned more 
with the things that Heaven contained than I am 
now. 

A few years ago, I officiated at the funeral of a lovely 
Christian woman. After the service her husband came 
to me and said: 

"Help me. Our little girl, Nellie, has been visiting 
all through her mother's sickness, and now I must go 
to bring her home. She doesn't know her mother is 
dead, and I can't tell her. Gome with me." 

I went, and never shall I forget the joyous little 
face that met her father's. "O papa, you've come to 
take me home!" So full was she of her own joy that 
she even failed to see the sorrow in her father's face. 
Almost before we knew it, we had reached the home 



MY WONDER BOOK 205 

and out sprang Nellie. Into the house she rushed. 
"Mother," she shouted. Down went her hat on the Revelations 
parlor table, and upstairs two steps at a time she 
hurried into mother's room. Then through all the 
other rooms and down again. " Mother " she cried, and 
then we told the baby as well as we could, that mother 
was not there, but had gone to Heaven. I shall always 
remember the look of childish wonder, as she crept 
down from my knee, and going to the table put on her 
hat and started for the door. 

"Where are you going, Nellie?" I asked. 

"I am going off," and the little lips quivered. "It 
isn't home where mamma isn't. ' ' 

I remember today, the beauty of that home. All 
through the years the thought has grown with me, that 
Heaven will have many pleasures, that it will even have 
the ivory keys of our hearts' desires, but, after all, the 
great object will be, to be where God is. 

Today, I sit in the sunshine of God's Wonderland, 
and again one by one I turn the pages of my Wonder 
Book, and whatever else I may see written across 
each page from Genesis to Revelation, above it all I 
find these words, "God is love." 

As I think of the Gloryland in which I have lived 
for nearly four-score years, and as I think of the greater 
Gloryland, not perhaps so far away, and then think 
of Him, through whose great love I shall soon see face 
to face, is it any wonder that I feel as Job did when 
he once said he had a message that he would write with 
an iron pen upon a page of rock? Even so, now, 



Revelations Lamb/ , 



206 MY WONDER BOOK 

would I write my life message, "Behold, behold the 



"Happy if with my latest breath 
I may but gasp His name, 
Preach Him to all, and cry in death, 
Behold, behold the Lamb!" 



On August 17, the proof-sheets of this book were 
read by Dr. Bates, who at the time was in his usual 
health. On August 27, alone, he met suddenly the 
Death Angel, and "through Jordan's sunny streams" 
he went to meet his "Pilot, face to face." 



1R 



EST, tired soldier, rest, 

Your battles are over at last, 
No more need you labor on life's battlefield. 
The victory came quick and fast. 



Rest, tired soldier, rest, 

You were ready when your Captain called, 
Though alone at your post when the summons came, 

You answered " Ready " at the final call. 

Rest, tired soldier, rest, 

On the hills of the heavenly shore, 

Loved ones are coming to meet you again 
Where partings will be no more. 

Rest, our loved hero, rest, 

Peace comes from God, who knows best, 
For we know you are waiting to welcome us there, 

Then rest, our loved hero, rest. 

Written by William Gilchrist 



JAM 3 1910 



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